


underneath a sea of stars

by lesyeuxdelilith



Series: two halves of a whole [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Attempt at Humor, Bad Flirting, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Dialogue Heavy, Drama & Romance, Eventual Smut, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Loneliness, Mild Language, Miscommunication, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Relationship(s), Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Professor Hermione Granger, Professor Sirius Black, References to Depression, Romance, Slow Burn, Teacher-Student Relationship, Young Andromeda Black Tonks, Young Bellatrix Black Lestrange, Young Narcissa Black Malfoy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:15:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 79,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28111512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesyeuxdelilith/pseuds/lesyeuxdelilith
Summary: “You are Hermione Granger.”Still taken aback, Hermione cleared her throat rather awkwardly. “Yes, and you are...” she said, analysing the puzzling Slytherin for a fleeting moment.  “Bellatrix Black, correct?”Four years after the war, Hermione Granger goes back to Hogwarts. Unsurprisingly, the new Transfiguration professor comes face to face with a not-so-unfamiliar stranger. Some wounds are picked open, many tears are shed, a couple of amends are made and a forbidden relationship blooms between them.
Relationships: Andromeda Black Tonks/Ted Tonks, Bellatrix Black Lestrange & Narcissa Black Malfoy & Andromeda Black Tonks, Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Bellatrix Black Lestrange, Lucius Malfoy/Narcissa Black Malfoy, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Series: two halves of a whole [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2047382
Comments: 178
Kudos: 426





	1. I: I remember you.

**Author's Note:**

> This idea has been lying around in my documents for a month now… Totally not forgotten… Certainly not... 
> 
> Welcome to my first Bellamione long-fic! This is an AU where the generations are mixed up, basically! Enjoy the ride.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three points mean a flashback inside a flashback, the horizontal line means the end of the (main) flashback, bold + italics means flashback during the present moment, italics mean thoughts. Hopefully, that clears things a bit :)
> 
> Edit: the last part of the chapter and the library flashback are completely mine. The rest is an edit of JKR's original work.

_**Late March, 1998.** _

The drawing room dazzled after the darkness outside; even with her eyes almost closed, Hermione could make out the wide proportions of the room. A crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, more portraits against the dark purple walls. The entire place _screamed_ wealth and age. Two figures rose from the chairs in front of an ornate marble fireplace as the prisoners were forced into the room by the Snatchers.

  
“What is this?”  
  


The dreadfully familiar, drawling voice of Abraxas Malfoy fell on Hermione’s ears. Panic rushed through her veins, her eyes scanning the room desperately. There was simply no way out. 

  
“They say they’ve got Potter,” said Henrietta Malfoy, her voice cold and detached. Then, on a much softer note, she added, “Draco, come here.”

  
Hermione did not dare look directly at Draco, but saw him obliquely: a figure much taller than she was, slowly rising from an armchair, his face a pale and pointed blur beneath white-blonde hair.

  
Fenrir Greyback forced the prisoners to turn again, his mouth curving into a sickening grin, so as to place Harry underneath the chandelier.

  
“Well, boy?” rasped the werewolf, staring at the youngest Malfoy with barely-contained excitement. 

  
Harry was facing a mirror over the fireplace, a great gilded thing with an intricately scrolled frame. Through the slits of his eyes, he stared at his own reflection for the first time since leaving Grimmauld Place. He flinched, barely recognising himself.

  
His face was huge, shiny and pink, every feature distorted by Hermione’s jinx. Behind him, Hermione shifted uncomfortably for a brief moment, clearly repentant. His black hair reached his shoulders and there was a dark shadow around his jaw. Gulping, he looked away from the mirror. He resolved not to speak, for his voice was sure to give him away; yet he still avoided eye contact with Draco as the latter approached him carefully, almost hesitant.

  
“Well, Draco?” questioned Abraxas Malfoy. He sounded avid, extremely so. “Is it? Is it Harry Potter?”

  
“I can’t— I can’t be sure,” Draco replied. He was keeping his distance from Greyback, and he seemed as scared of looking at Harry as Harry was of looking at him.  
  


“But look at him carefully, look! Come closer!” Hermione had never heard Abraxas Malfoy so excited. “Draco, if we are the ones who hand Potter over the Dark Lord, everything will be forgiv—”

  
Baring his fangs to the blond man, Greyback growled menacingly. “Now, we won’t be forgetting who actually caught it, I hope, Mr. Malfoy?”

  
“Of course not, of course not!” Abraxas reassured, impatient. He approached Harry himself, his steps slow and calculated; came so close that even Hermione could see the usually languid, pale face in sharp detail. His eyes had a mad glint, heavily highlighted by the dark rings beneath them. “What did you do to him?” Abraxas asked Greyback, still facing Harry. “How did he get into this state?”

  
“That wasn’t us.”

  
Sounding transfixed, Abraxas hummed. “Looks more like a Stinging Jinx to me...” His grey eyes raked Harry’s forehead. “There’s something there,” he stated under his breath, “it could be the scar, stretched tight... Draco, come here, look properly! What do you think?”

  
The youngest Malfoy stepped closer. They were extraordinarily alike, father and son, Hermione noticed; except that while Abraxas looked beside himself with excitement, Draco’s expression was full of reluctance. And maybe, just maybe, something akin to fear.

  
“I don’t know,” he eventually said, then walked towards the fireplace, where his mother stood watching.

  
“We had better be certain, Abraxas,” Henrietta called to her husband in her cold, clear voice. “Completely sure that it _is_ Potter before we summon the Dark Lord... they say this is his,” she was looking closely at the blackthorn wand, brow furrowed in thought, “but it does not resemble Ollivander’s description. If we are mistaken— if we call the Dark Lord here for nought... remember what he did to Rowle and Dolohov?”

  
Fenrir Greyback growled yet again, interrupting the woman. “What about the Mudblood, then?”

  
Harry was nearly thrown off his feet as the Snatchers forced the prisoners to swivel around again so that the light fell on Hermione instead. A pang of dread coursed through her shivering body. Unlike Harry, Hermione was far too recognisable.

  
“Wait,” Henrietta said sharply, examining the other witch frantically. “Yes— yes, she was in Madam Malkin’s with Potter! I saw her picture in the _Prophet!_ Look, Draco, isn’t this the Granger girl?”

  
Much to Hermione’s surprise, Draco did not look her way. “I... maybe... yeah.”

  
“But then, that’s the Weasley boy!” Abraxas exclaimed, striding round the bound prisoners to face Ron. His grin grew ten times wider, a hundred times darker. “It’s them— Potter’s friends! Draco, look at him! Isn’t it Arthur Weasley’s son, what’s his name—?”

  
“Yeah,” said Draco again, his back to the prisoners— His body was trembling lightly, Hermione realized. “It could be.”

  
Suddenly, the drawing room’s door opened behind them, shattering the tense atmosphere for a fleeting moment. A man spoke, low and velvety, wounding Hermione’s fear to an even higher pitch. “What is this?” the man who had tortured Neville’s parents to mindless insanity, who had nearly killed Sirius at the Department of Mysteries; questioned light-heartedly. “What is going on here, Abraxas?”

  
Cygnus Black III sauntered around the prisoners, examining them with detached eyes. He stopped at Harry’s right, staring at Hermione with raised eyebrows. Quickly, the girl shielded her mind— according to her more than extensive research, the man was a gifted Legilimens. “But surely,” he said quietly, making Hermione quiver in her boots. “This is the brains behind Potter’s _heroic_ deeds, the so-called _Brightest Witch of Her Age?_ ” he drawled, venom dripping from his voice. “This is the Mudblood? This is Granger?”

  
“Yes, yes, it’s Granger!” Abraxas cried out, approaching the other man with an ecstatic smile. He looked feral, beyond deranged. Cygnus, on the other hand, looked awfully calm. Frighteningly so. “Draco isn’t quite sure, Cyg— but it _has_ to be her.”

  
The raven-haired wizard hummed, taking his friend’s words into consideration. Amused, he cracked a charming smile. “Not quite sure, hm?” he contemplated quietly, eyeing the door behind their prisoners with newfound interest. “If that’s the case… Bellatrix, come here!” Hermione blanched even further upon hearing the not-so-unfamiliar name, her stomach churning unpleasantly. Someone walked past Hermione; a sea of black skirts entered her field of vision. _Shit, shit, shit._ “My dear, Rodolphus said you spend most of your time at the library— surely, you must have seen the filthy Mudblood around there, yes?”

  
Cygnus grabbed his daughter’s shoulders, his fingers digging deep into her flesh, then turned her around without any decorum. Her black curls swayed back and forth for a second or two, seemingly absorbing all of the chandelier’s dim light. Hermione could feel the girl’s eyes on her, boring holes into her very soul. 

  
“Tell me, my dear... is this _the_ Mudblood?”   
  
  
Hermione looked up, absolutely frightened.   
  
  
When those silver eyes —still unreadable and impassive, though somewhat tired— met her golden ones, Hermione swallowed hard. An unpleasant shiver rushed down her spine, but she refused to break for the time being. To show any sign of weakness, of fear— that would certainly give her away.

 _  
I know you know—_ _please, don’t do this._

  
Then, recognition flickered within Bellatrix’s silver orbs.

**•••••**

  
**_December, 1996._ **

“Darn it, another dead-end...” Hermione mumbled tiredly, her annoyance doubling in size.   
  
  
Exhaustion greeted her like an old friend; clawing at her tense muscles and whispering sweet nothings into her ear. Her shoulders ached, tense beyond imagination... _All these nights in the library,_ thought Hermione distractedly whilst snapping an old yearbook shut, _are taking a toll on me._

  
With an exaggerated sigh, Hermione slowly ran her hands through her messy hair. "Whoever this _Half-Blood_ _Prince_ is, he must—”

  
Feeling observed, she coughed awkwardly. _Paranoid..._ Hermione mused, studying her surroundings as subtly as possible, _you are getting paranoid. Seriously, get a hold of yourself..._ The remainder of her inner monologue withered away, dying at the back of her throat; upon spotting a young Slytherin girl staring at her rather fixedly. _Alright, not as paranoid as I thought— good job, Hermione.  
  
_

“Yes?” the Gryffindor asked with wariness, straightening her back. Her joints popped pleasantly; the accumulated tension seeped out of her sore bones in waves. “Can I help you?”

  
The younger witch hummed, twirling her thumb ring —a nondescript, black accessory which contrasted with her pale skin effortlessly— left and right. Not once did those silver eyes leave Hermione’s golden ones, seemingly studying them in detail— her gaze was simply unreadable. Moments later, her mouth curved into what her fellow Gryffindors had dubbed _the Slytherin smirk._

  
Bracing herself for the _absolute_ worst —the classic Slytherin taunt, a quiet yet venomous stream of prejudiced insults, a hissed _Mudblood_ or clichéd nicknames of the like, some crude comment regarding her muggle upbringing and ancestry, a snarky remark questioning the veracity of her magical abilities, a nasty jinx on her belongings...—, the Gryffindor raised one eyebrow in silent defiance.

  
Shockingly, the girl’s smirk changed all of a sudden— it morphed into something else entirely.

  
“You are Hermione Granger.”  
  
  
Thinking back on it, the Gryffindor Prefect could have possibly come up with a _much_ more dignified response than— well, staring at the poor Slytherin in blatant disbelief for a solid minute. The younger witch had managed to render her, Hermione Jean Granger, completely speechless with four mere words. _Or rather,_ the brunette mused, _the sentiment behind those words..._  
  
  
Still taken aback, Hermione cleared her throat rather awkwardly. “Yes, and you are...” she said, analysing the puzzling Slytherin for a fleeting moment. _A mane of black curls, strong jaw, aristocratic features, proud stance, fair skin, silver eyes— dear God, this is the girl who became a hatstall for nearly six minutes during the Sorting ceremony— wait a moment, this is Sirius’ cousin!_ “Er... Bellatrix Black, correct?”

  
Again, the Slytherin smirked. 

  
“Mister Lestrange!” Madam Pince’s growl reverberated throughout the entire library. The bookshelves shook, as though afraid, seemingly sensing the librarian’s ire. Succumbing to her curiosity, Hermione focused her attention solely on the distraught woman, who was beyond livid. “You are not allowed in here anymore, leave at once! Out — out — OUT!”  
  
  
“Hah, serves him right...” Hermione murmured bitterly, flashing a triumphant smile.   
  
  
Rodolphus Lestrange —a seventh-year Slytherin who had _never_ stepped inside the library up until that very year— had been disturbing the poor students’ study-time for two months and a half. _And terrorising muggle-borns for as long as I can remember_ ,Hermione thought; her eyes narrowing in absolute disgust. _Looking for someone, he said. None of your business, he said. You do not have authority over me, he said... ugh, bloody Slytherins..._ “Good riddan— huh?”

  
Upon turning around, ready to resume her quote-unquote conversation with the raven-haired witch; Hermione found herself alone. The Slytherin girl had disappeared, vanished into thin air— left without a prior warning, unseen and unheard.

  
Relying on muscle memory alone, Hermione gathered her belongings while pondering over the whole exchange again and again and again.

_  
**“You are Hermione Granger.”** _

  
Awed.

  
Bellatrix Black had sounded awed.

  
  


**•••••**

  
_**Late March, 1998  
  
** _

  
Cygnus tightened his hold on Bellatrix’s shoulders, his fingers digging deeper into her flesh. “Well?” he questioned in a dangerously quiet voice. “Is this the Granger girl, my dear?”  
  
  
Closing her eyes, the younger witch shook her head. “I don’t know, father,” she drawled indifferently. Seconds later, a corner of her mouth lifted nigh-on imperceptibly. “I’ve never seen the Mudblood at the library, my apologies.”

  
Abraxas stepped forward, shaking like a leaf. “Forget about the girl, Cygnus. This—” he said, grabbing Harry’s hair roughly, “is who truly matters. This, my friend, is Harry Potter.”

  
Cygnus’ eyes widened almost comically. “Potter?” he screamed, backing away from his daughter at once. “Are you sure?” His charming smirk morphed into something akin to unhinged, triumphant. “Well, then, the Dark Lord must be informed at once!”  
  
  
With palpable eagerness, Abraxas Malfoy dragged back his left sleeve.

  
Hermione saw the Dark Mark burnt into the flesh of his pale arm; a symbol of oppression, hatred, madness and death.  
  
  
The sight of it made her sick to her stomach.

  
“Begging your pardon, Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Black,” interjected Greyback, his chin tilted up and proud. The blond looked at him, annoyed, while the raven-haired wizard merely scoffed. “But it’s us that caught Potter, and it’s us that’ll be claiming the gold—”

  
“Gold!” laughed Cygnus, finally tearing his eyes off their beloved Lord’s signature mark. “Take your gold, filthy scavenger, what do we want with gold? We seek only the honour of His— of—”

  
The man lost his voice, recognition dawning on his pale face. His dark eyes were fixed upon something Hermione could not quite see, blown and manic. The unofficial Death Eater swallowed hard, then turned to the blond man. “STOP!” he exclaimed, grabbing Abraxas’ left arm shakily. “Do not touch it, we shall perish if the Dark Lord comes now!”

  
Visibly confused, Abraxas froze. “Cygnus, what are—?”

  
With a growl, the raven-haired wizard strode out of Hermione’s already limited field of vision. “What is that?” he snarled somewhere behind them, his voice icy and calculated.  
  
  
“Sword,” grunted an out-of-sight Snatcher.

  
“Give it to me.”

  
“It’s not yorn, Mister, it’s mine. I reckon I found it.”

  
A flash of red light, a loud bang— the Snatcher had been stunned.  
  
  
“What d’you think you’re playing at, man?” Scabior questioned, seemingly emboldened. The other three Snatchers growled and screamed, pointing their wands at Cygnus. 

  
“ _Stupefy_ ,” Cygnus screamed, “ _Stupefy!_ ”

  
But they were no match for him, even though there were four of them against one of him: Cygnus Black III was a wizard, as Hermione knew, with prodigious skill and no conscience. They fell where they stood, all except Greyback, who had been forced into a kneeling position with his arms outstretched. Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione saw Cygnus bearing down upon the werewolf, the sword of Gryffindor gripped tightly in his hands and his face waxen.

  
Pulling the werewolf’s wand out of his unresisting grip, Cygnus sneered. “Where did you get this sword, mutt?”

  
“How dare you!” he snarled, his mouth the only thing he could move as he was forced to gaze up at him. “Release me, you madman!”

  
“Where did you find this sword, you mongrel?” Cygnus repeated, brandishing it in his face. “Snape sent it to my vault in Gringotts! Where did you find this sword!?”

  
“It was in their tent,” rasped Greyback, sweating profusely. “Release me, I say!”

  
And he did.

  
Cygnus gasped for air, pulling the sword close to his chest. “Draco, move this scum outside,” he eventually said, nodding at the unconscious men. “If you haven’t got the guts to finish them, leave them in the courtyard for me.”

  
“Don’t you dare speak to Draco like—” said Henrietta furiously, but Cygnus screamed, “Be quiet! The situation is graver than you can possibly imagine, Etta! We have a serious problem!”

  
He stood, panting slightly, looking down at the sword, examining its hilt intently. Then, he turned to look at the silent prisoners. “If it is indeed Potter, he must not be harmed,” he muttered, more to himself than to the others. “The Dark Lord wishes to dispose of Potter himself... but if he finds out... I must... I must know...” He turned back to the Malfoy matriarch again. “The prisoners must be placed in the cellar while I think of what to do!”

  
“This is my house, Cyg, you don’t give orders in my—”

  
“DO IT! You have no idea of the danger we are in!” Cygnus yelled, pacing around the place. He looked frightening, mad; a stream of fire issued from his wand and burned a hole in the carpet. Even Bellatrix, who had stepped away from her father while rubbing her shoulders, looked wary of him. Her very own father, just how messed up was that?

  
Henrietta hesitated for a moment, looking at the man with narrowed eyes, then addressed the werewolf. “Take these prisoners down to the cellar, Greyback.”

  
“Wait,” said Cygnus sharply. “All except... except for the Mudblood.”

  
Greyback gave a grunt of pleasure, which made Ron yelp. “No! You can have me, keep me!” 

  
Cygnus slapped him across the face, his rings scraping his pale skin; the blow echoed through the room. “If she dies under questioning, I’ll take you next,” he promised. “Blood traitor is next to Mudblood in my book. Take them downstairs, Greyback... make sure they are secure, but do nothing more to them... yet.” 

  
Furiously, he threw Greyback’s wand back to him, then took a small silver dagger from inside his robes. He cut Hermione free from the other prisoners, then dragged her by the hair into the middle of the room. “My dear, stay. Watch and learn,” Cygnus told Bellatrix whilst Greyback taunted Hermione’s friends, infuriating Ron even further.

  
“DON’T TOUCH HER.”

  
A loud bang followed.

  
“Now...” Cygnus whispered once they were alone, forcing her into a kneeling position. “How did you get inside my vault?”

  
Hermione sobbed, unable to shake her head due to Cygnus’ iron grip on her hair. “We didn’t, I promise— we have never been inside your vault!”

  
The wizard’s nostrils flared. “You are lying, filthy Mudblood,” he sneered, his voice growing deeper and deeper. “And I know it! You have been inside my vault at Gringotts! Tell the truth, _tell the truth!_ ”

  
“We haven’t,” cried Hermione, but Cygnus screamed, “LIES! _Crucio_ — _Crucio_ — _CRUCIO_ _!_ ” 

  
A high-pitched scream erupted from her dry lips, tearing her throat into shreds. Her body convulsed, scorching pain coursing through her veins. A myriad of white-hot knives embedded into her body, ruthlessly slashing her skin apart. The sensation was maddening.

  
“I’m going to ask you one more time... where did you get this sword? _Where?_ ”

  
Her heart thrummed between her ears, deafening and unrestrained. “We found it— we found it— PLEASE!” Hermione begged, screaming at the top of her lungs when the man cursed her again. 

  
“YOU WERE IN MY VAULT!” Cygnus shouted, pressing his wand hard against her larynx. Gurgling, Hermione looked around the room, desperately searching for a way out— her eyes landed on Bellatrix. The younger witch stood near the fireplace, watching the scene unfold with a blank expression. Sheer terror reigned over her silver eyes, though, making her look old beyond her years. Much to Hermione’s surprise, Bellatrix met her gaze again. _Help me, please, help me. Help me. Please..._ “What else did you take? What else have you got? Tell me the truth or, I swear, I shall run you with this knife!”

  
When the man removed his wand from her throat, keeping it dangerously close to her pulsing skin, Hermione gasped for air greedily. “Nothing, I promise! We haven’t been inside your vault— we haven’t taken anything from you!”

  
The quasi Death Eater growled, displeased with her answer, and cursed her again. “How did you get into my vault?” he screamed, sounding like a broken record. Hermione could hardly breathe. “Did that dirty little goblin in the cellar help you, hm?”

  
“W-We only met him tonight!” Hermione replied, shaking her head frantically. Every inch of her body had been set aflame, screaming and doubling in pain. “We’ve ne-never been inside your vault... it isn’t the real sword! It’s a copy, just a co—”

  
“ENOUGH!” Cygnus roared, piercing her left forearm with the silver dagger. Hermione sobbed, unable to scream any longer.

  
Desperate, Hermione glanced at Bellatrix one more time. _Please, help me. Please, please, please..._ The young Slytherin witch was observing the scene wide-eyed, shaking like a leaf. Now that nobody was screaming, Hermione could vaguely hear her frantic breathing and soft whimpers. 

  
Cygnus pushed the blade forward, engraving a straight line into her skin— quickly followed by two sharp gashes, carved in a down-and-up motion. The weapon’s dark magic made Hermione’s flesh tingle unpleasantly. _The dagger is cursed... help me, please..._ Then, the man moved the blade back down painfully slow, creating a line that mirrored the very first one through and through. 

  
“I have had ENOUGH of your pitiful lies, you filthy Mudblood!” Cygnus said darkly, carving a perfect arch near the other gashes. 

_  
Help me, help me, help me, help me..._

  
  


* * *

  
  


_**September 1st, 2002.** _

Those awful memories kept coming back.  
  
  
Truth be told, they had _never_ left.  
  
  
Forcing them away, Hermione glanced at her soon-to-be students with a nervous smile. Now that the Sorting Celebration was finally over, the kids chattered amongst themselves and giggled more often than not. Many of them looked at her, admiration and disbelief written all over their faces; impossibly overwhelming and heartwarming.

  
Eventually, her golden eyes fell upon three familiar Slytherin witches.   
  
  
Dread settled in the depths of her stomach.

  
“Hey... who are they? They are— they look familiar...”  
  
  
“Huh? Those three girls over there—?” a quiet hiss, a quick blow to the ribs, “blimey, Hermione! I’m surprised you don’t remember them, is all. You saw their portraits at Grimmauld Place, didn’t you?” laughed Sirius Black, smirking proudly at the Slytherin table. “They’re my cousins.”

  
Hermione swallowed hard, suddenly nervous.  
  
  
With a snort of amusement, Sirius nodded at them subtly. “Believe it or not, they’re all top of the class— the blonde is Narcissa, the youngest of the three. Very quiet and reserved, but highly intelligent. She’s a second-year.” The blonde yelped, blushing profusely; and elbowed a brunette witch. “And that’s Andromeda, the middle sister,” Sirius continued, sounding quite amused. “Very carefree and witty. The girl had the gall to turn Lucius Malfoy into a bloody ferret in front of Minerva. She’s in her fourth year.”  
  


Feeling observed, Hermione looked at the girl sitting beside Andromeda— and froze.

  
Silver eyes —as impassive and unreadable as ever— met golden ones, sending unpleasant shivers running down Hermione’s spine.  
 **_  
_**

_**“Well?” he questioned in a dangerously quiet voice. “Is this the Granger girl, my dear?”** _   
  
  
_**Closing her eyes, the younger witch shook her head. “I don’t know, father,” she drawled indifferently. Seconds later, a corner of her mouth lifted nigh-on imperceptibly. “I’ve never seen the Mudblood at the library, my apologies.”  
  
** _

“And that is—”

  
Hermione dropped her fork, unable to look away from those haunting silver eyes.

  
“Bellatrix Black.” 


	2. II: The white queen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bolds + italics = memories  
> Italics = Hermione's thoughts
> 
> That being said, hope you enjoy the second chapter :)

Early on Friday morning, Hermione strode into the Transfiguration classroom —number 1B on the ground floor— with a nervous yet wide smile.  
  
  
 _There are thirty-six students here; twenty-one Hufflepuffs and fifteen Slytherins, eager to learn about Advanced Transfiguration and prepare themselves for their N.E.W.T. exams. Everything is going to be fine, calm down already! Just remember McGonagall’s methodology— fair but strict._  
  
  
Upon entering the classroom, the Hufflepuff students turned around excitedly whilst the Slytherin ones simply acknowledged her presence with a polite nod. That disheartened Hermione a little— _alright, a lot. I wasn’t expecting this... I probably should’ve, all things considered..._ The pure-bloods’ reign of terror had ended shortly after Voldemort’s defeat, but Hermione couldn’t help but wonder if things had _really_ changed in four sad years. These students were sixteen, surely some —if not all— of their old ideologies and traditions lived on within them. The mere thought made Hermione anxious to the core, a thousand _what-ifs_ crossing her head at an unfathomable speed.

  
“Good morning, everyone!” greeted Hermione, voice wavering momentarily. “Welcome to N.E.W.T-level Transfiguration. First of all, congratulations on getting thus far. I hope your O.W.L. results were most satisfactory and that everyone’s had a nice summer break.”  
  


Upon spotting a familiar mane of black curls, her smile faltered ever so slightly.  
  
  
The unkempt ringlets seemed to absorb all of the morning light, just like in Malfoy Manor all those years ago— _stop, stop, stop! Perish that line of thought right now, Granger._

  
Giddy with anxiousness, Hermione inhaled deeply— her heart thundered maddeningly between her ears, muffling the students’ excited whispers. At some point, her hands had grown shaky and sweaty. _Pull yourself together, for God’s sake! You’ve got things to teach!_

  
“Our lesson today is a very practical one, a little warm-up of sorts,” Hermione explained quietly, rummaging through her expanded beaded handbag. Moments later, she pulled a white pawn with a triumphant smile. “We’ll be using Transfiguration to turn a pawn into a queen with the _‘Regina Facti Sunt’_ spell. Before we start...” She placed the little pawn on the table, then clapped her hands with a wide grin. “Can someone tell me what this transforming spell is a reference to?”

  
Hushed whispers ensued.

  
Nobody seemed to know the answer.  
  
  
Eventually, Bellatrix Black raised her hand with a flourish. Face devoid of any and all emotion, the Slytherin witch made eye contact with Hermione.  
  
  
 _ **“Tell me, my dear… Is this the Mudblood?”**_

_**  
Hermione looked up, absolutely frightened.** _

_**  
When those silver eyes —still unreadable and impassive, though somewhat tired— met her golden ones, Hermione swallowed hard. An unpleasant shiver rushed down her spine, but she refused to break for the time being. To show any sign of weakness, of fear— that would certainly give her away.**_  
  
  
Barely repressing a nasty shudder, Hermione summoned thirty-six pawns and placed them atop the students’ tables without uttering a word. “Please, start working on the spell. Be very mindful of the pawn’s dimensions, material and weight... should you require more assistance, open _A guide to advanced Transfiguration_ and go to page fifty-eight. Get to it.”  
  
  
Hurt crossed Black’s face for a fleeting moment, but Hermione couldn’t bring herself to care. Not when her stomach was up in knots, vile crawling up her throat, her pulse still out of control... not when unpleasant memories sprang back to life whenever she looked at the Slytherin witch.  
  
  
Deep down, she did feel guilty.  
  
  
How could she not?  
  
  
 _Pull yourself together, Hermione. None of that is her fault!_   
  
  
Much to Hermione’s surprise, many students blew up their pawns at least _twice_ throughout the course of the class— _this brings me back,_ Hermione thought distractedly whilst fighting back an amused smile, _what’s up with wizardkind and pyrotechnics?_   
  
  
When a blonde Hufflepuff called Ariana Riggs exploded her pawn for the fourth time, Hermione sighed deeply and shook her head. _I can easily sympathise with Headmistress McGonagall now... dear Lord, this is so frustrating yet so entertaining...  
  
_  
After a few seconds, Bellatrix Black raised her hand again.  
  
  
The Slytherin had transformed her pawn into a white queen without much effort at the beginning of the class. Out of sheer boredom, Black had transfigured the chess piece into a king, a rook, a bishop, a courier, a sage, a jester and a queen once again at least five times before finally raising her hand.   
  
  
Feeling another pang of guilt, Hermione rushed to the desk behind Black’s, where Evan Fawley had transformed his pawn into a miniature soldier somehow— shockingly enough, it was screaming bloody murder. The piece tried to jump off the table, but Hermione caught it mid-air with a chuckle.  
  
  
“Mister Fawley, your wand movement is too sharp,” said Hermione quietly, trying to ignore Black’s upset gaze. “You have to do it like this— see?” The Hufflepuff boy nodded eagerly and imitated her indications with a frown. This time, the pawn-turned-soldier became a deformed black king. “Close enough; keep practising, I’m sure you’ll get it right soon.”  
  
  
Black’s hand was still in the air.

  
Noticing that Hermione was _purposefully_ ignoring Black, a couple of Slytherin students snickered amongst themselves. “I wonder what Bellatrix’s done this time,” one said, clearly way louder than intended. “First day of class and Professor Granger ignoring her, just like—”  
  
  
Without prior warning; Black slammed her open hand against the desk.   
  
  
Her chess piece rolled across the table but didn’t fall off its surface.  
  
  
Exhaling slowly through her nose, Black turned around and sent the giggling Slytherins a nasty look— a death glare. The little group fell silent right away, visibly uncomfortable and frightened.  
  
  
As though slapped, Hermione flinched and recoiled.  
  
  
 _ **Dark eyes, blown and manic, were looking down on her. Bloodshot, frightening and absolutely deranged. The eyes of a bloodthirsty murderer— the eyes of a Death Eater.  
  
  
**_ _ **A loud voice thundered across the drawing-room.  
  
  
“YOU WERE IN MY VAULT!”  
  
  
**_Right now, her face resembled Cygnus Black’s way too much for comfort; all sharp, hardened features and cutting edges. Pursed lips and flared nostrils. A menacing scowl and blown pupils. Jaw set and eyebrows furrowed. 

  
The _‘Mudblood’_ scar on Hermione’s forearm ached, as though it had a pulse of its own. _Breathe, Hermione; just focus on breathing— in and out, in and out... nothing can hurt you now. Nobody can hurt you now!_

  
“If you have something to say about me,” said Black in an eerily calm tone, “say it to my face, Avery.”  
  
  
Hermione leaned against the professor’s table for support, absolutely bewildered. Her body did a full-body shudder as her ears rang loudly. _Dear God, her voice... It used to be so high-pitched four years ago... I— what a change..._ “Everyone, please calm down!” Hermione begged upon snapping out of her momentary stupor. Hearing another explosion, she exhaled wearily. “Alright, enough for today. Please practice the spell when possible. I’ll see you on Monday afternoon. Class dismissed!”  
  
  
Bidding her adieu, everyone left the classroom right away. They spoke in not-so-hushed murmurs, laughed about the exploding pawns, complained about the transfiguration spell, talked about their next class— Hufflepuff had Charms with Flitwick and Slytherin had Defense Against the Dark Arts with Sirius.  
  
  
Black stayed behind, staring impassively at Hermione for a minute or two.   
  
  
Not once did Hermione look at her.  
  
  
Without uttering a single word, Black stormed out of the classroom.  
  
  
 _That went well..._  
  


* * *

  
Roughly two hours later, Hermione found herself rapping on Sirius’ office door quite frantically. The loud knocks resonated through the now empty Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, breaking the all-consuming and awkward silence.

  
“Merlin, what in the actual fu—! ‘Mione?” Sirius frowned at her before letting her in with a mocking bow. “Welcome to my humble adobe, please make yourself comfortable. What did my poor, poor door do to you on this fine morning?”  
  
  
“I cannot do this,” rasped Hermione through gritted teeth, ignoring Sirius’ sarcastic question. Her lungs were burning, unable to get enough air. The entire world around her was spinning and spinning out of control. She paced around the office, golden eyes darting around in a frantic manner. “I cannot give class with _her_ there, Sirius. I just... I just can’t!”

  
Sirius raised one eyebrow. “What are you talking about?”

  
“Bellatrix!” Hermione cried out, stomping hard on the floor. “I just— I cannot give class with her there, Sirius. I see him— I see Cygnus Black whenever I look at her! I see his eyes, his smile... I hear his voice, sometimes deep and others high-pitched. Mocking me. Screaming at me. Insulting me. Torturing me...” Her voice cracked painfully. “I can’t, Sirius... I really can’t...”

  
With a tired sigh, Sirius sat on his desk. “I know what you mean,” he admitted quietly, voice heavy with regret and sadness. “I really do. Two years ago, when I became the DADA professor, I couldn’t stand looking at her either. My blood boiled whenever I saw her... I ignored her as much as possible...”  
  
  
 ** _“I wonder what Black’s done now,” one said, clearly way louder than intended. “First day of class and Professor Granger is already ignoring her, just like—”  
  
  
_** Realization hit her like a freight truck.  
  
  
Hermione frowned, taking a seat in front of Sirius. “What— how so?”  
  
  
Sirius chuckled darkly. “Trixie reminded me of my mother, so I avoided her like the bloody plague. The proud stance, the haughty eyes, the cutting smirks, the mocking laughs... all that Slytherin pride... I could handle Drommie just fine, but Trixie? Nah... her talent and attitude frightened me— the resemblance was simply uncanny. In every sense of the bloody word. I just couldn’t differentiate them... I didn’t even _try_ to differentiate them. But something happened one day, an incident with a Boggart in her fourth year...” His voice had gradually turned quiet, wistful. “After that, I started seeing her in a new light...”  
  
  
Intrigued, Hermione leaned forward and licked her lips, savouring the unspoken question on them.   
  
  
Sirius, however, exhaled deeply and shooked his head.  
  
  
“Did you know that Trixie broke your O.W.L. record?” he asked, winking playfully— the action was blatantly forced, but Hermione didn’t comment on that, shocked beyond imagination. Her jaw fell to the floor; Sirius’ words could only mean _one_ thing. “Trixie got ten _‘Outstandings’_ and surpassed some of your grades narrowly. She looked damn smug about it.”  
  
  
“That is—” she mumbled, struggling with words. “That is impressive! Which subjects did she take?”  
  
  
“Same as you, I believe...” Sirius replied and scratched his beard thoughtfully. “Arithmancy, Astronomy, Care of Magical Creatures, Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Herbology, History of Magic, Potions, Study of Ancient Runes and Transfiguration...” He waved a dismissive hand. “What a bloody nightmare— she hates Arithmancy and History of Magic with a burning passion, so she was moody all year long.”  
  
  
Suddenly, a memory crossed her mind.

  
**_“There’s a student that reminds me so much of you, Hermione,” said Minerva, looking at her old office with a fond smile. “Unafraid to break the rules, intelligent, hardworking, passionate, impossibly dedicated, spends most of her time in the library... she’s hard to rein in, but I think you’re in for a pleasant surprise.”_ **

  
Sirius threw his head back, running a hand through his long hair. “Trixie’s also the Slytherin Quidditch team’s captain; she plays Seeker. She’s a bit better than Harry, I’ll tell you that— don’t tell him I said that, though.” They shared a knowing laugh. “And she’s just like Regulus... just as quick-witted and talented, if not even more... talent definitely runs in the family, aye? Minnie’s told me that Slytherin’s won the Quidditch Cup for three years in a row.”  
  
  
“McGonagall must’ve been thoroughly disappointed in the Gryffindor team,” Hermione leaned against the backrest, smiling guiltily at the man. “I think... I owe her an apology.”  
  
  
“And why’s that?”  
  
  
“I... well— I may have ignored her...” Hermione whispered, shame bubbling in her chest. “For two hours straight.”  
  
  
“Ah,” said Sirius, smirking a little. “So _that’s_ why Trixie was _so_ pissed during my class. Good to know.”  
  
  
The muggle-born groaned, burying her face in her hands. “I fucked up, didn’t I?”  
  
  
“Eh, just a bit,” replied Sirius, clearly amused. There was a mischievous glint in his eye. “Nothing you cannot fix. I’m actually convinced that Trixie lives in a semi-permanent state of anger, no worries. Just apologise to her and everything should be fine. The sooner the better, though— she holds grudges.”  
  
  
“Where can I find her?” Hermione asked quietly, rising from her seat.  
  
  
Sirius snorted. “Great question. The library’s her usual hideout— that and the Great Lake. And the Forbidden Forest. Finding her without the Marauder’s Map can be a pain in the arse, I’ll tell you that.”  
  
  
Hermione nodded, taking his words into consideration. The mere thought of using the Marauder’s Map to track a student down made her feel very uneasy. “Alright... thank you, Sirius— for listening and talking to me. I really mean it.”

  
“My pleasure, ‘Mione,” said Sirius, offering her a heartfelt smile. “Please, owl Harry when you have time, will you? The boys— everyone misses you terribly, Hermione. I know things are hard and shitty, but you shouldn’t push your friends away. Don’t try to deal with everything on your own, okay? You’re not alone.”

  
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Hermione said, masking her pain and discomfort with an unconvincing smile. “Now, if you’ll excuse me... I have someone to apologise to. See you at lunch, Sirius.”  
  
  
With that being said, Hermione left the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom and went to the library. The place was fairly empty, but some Ravenclaws could be seen behind the bookshelves on occasion— Hermione swallowed hard, unsure of what to expect. _Maybe she’s not here...  
_  
  
When Madam Pince spotted her, she beckoned her with a tilt of her head. There was a small smile tugging at her usually pursed lips. Unlike Harry, Ron and Ginny —and most of the Hogwarts population, really—; the two had always been on good terms.  
  
“Good morning, Madam Pin—”

  
“Call me Irma, please. We’re colleagues now, are we not? Tell me, what can I do for you?”

  
“Irma,” the name rolled off Hermione’s lips, foreign and awkward. “I was wondering... is Miss Black here? There’s something I need to discuss with her.”

  
The librarian raised her eyebrows, clearly intrigued, but refrained from commentary. “Which of the three?”

  
 _Ah, true..._ Scratching her neck nervously, Hermione cleared her throat. “Er— the eldest sister.”

  
“Reference Section.”

  
Hermione smiled. “Thank you, Madam Pi— Irma!” 

  
True to the librarian’s word, Black was in the Reference Section. On her own. Surrounded by ancient tomes, countless scrolls and what seemed to be registers of times long forgotten. Hermione recognised a few of those books: _Extreme Incantations, Guide to Advanced Occlumency, The Healer’s Helpmate_ and _Merpeople: A Comprehensive Guide to Their Language and Customs._

  
“Er— Miss Black?” 

  
As expected, the student refused to acknowledge her presence. _You know what they say, what goes around comes around._

  
“I wanted to apologise,” Hermione started slowly, staring at the younger witch intently. “For my previous behaviour. I— it was unbecoming and uncalled for. I’m really sorry about that.” _Oh my God, I treated her like Snape treated me! There is no excuse for that!_

  
Black bookmarked the page she was reading, closed the book with surprising care and turned around to face Hermione. Her eyebrows were raised, a look of something akin to surprise _—_ or even intrigue _—_ on her face. 

  
“A-And I wanted to thank you,” continued Hermione, clenching and unclenching her hands to relieve some stress. “For not snitching on me back at— you know. I... seriously, I am eternally grateful for that.” Hermione gulped and nodded, pleased with her thank-you speech. After muttering those words, a heavy weight finally lifted off her worn-out shoulders.

  
Awaiting Black’s response, Hermione studied her briefly. The mane of black curls, strong jaw, aristocratic features, proud stance and fair skin hadn’t changed in the slightest during the past four years. Long was the baby fat, though, leaving behind pronounced cheekbones. Her lips were a bit fuller, sharp pearl white teeth hidden behind. Her silver eyes were still unreadable and impassive, though so much wiser than before. The girl had changed, but at the same time, she’d remained the same. 

  
“My pleasure,” drawled Black after a minute. Her silver eyes shimmered with a blazing intensity that took Hermione’s breath away. “Anything to spite my father.”

  
Hermione nodded dumbly, unsure of what that meant. “Yes— well, I’ll leave now. Good selection, by the way. Of books, I mean. Have a nice day, Miss Black.” Then, she span around her heels and began to walk down the narrow hallway, her heart thrumming wildly in her chest. _I did it! I apologised to—_

  
“Promotion.”

  
Stopping dead in her tracks, Hermione frowned and turned around. “Pardon?” 

  
Black merely shrugged, flashing the Slytherin signature smirk. “The answer to your question in class. The transformation spell is a reference to promotion, alternatively known as ‘queening’, a role in chess saying that a pawn is replaced with a queen, rook, knight or bishop when it reaches the eighth rank of the chessboard.”

  
Hermione opened and closed her mouth a couple of times, completely at a loss of words. After a couple of seconds, she smiled and nodded. “Exactly. Five points to Slytherin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me, in voice chat: chapter two, the white queen... aka the one chapter where Bellatrix gets ignored hard and Hermione apologises.
> 
> My friend: but what if she doesn't accept her apology?
> 
> Me, after choking on literally nothing: well− end of the fic, I guess!


	3. III: Not so golden.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter! Totally did not get carried away yesterday night writing this. Totally did not stay up till 2 am writing this. Psh, please.

Face buried deep in her carmine pillow, Hermione groaned loudly.  
  
  
Friday night had _finally_ arrived, officially marking the end of her first week as Hogwarts’ new Transfiguration professor and Head of Gryffindor. _Hallelujah... I didn’t think it’d be this tasking..._

  
“I’ve gotten old...” Hermione grumbled whilst stretching, her stiff joints popping back into place deliciously. “Yep. After a decade of running around, fighting against Dark Lords and deranged Death Eaters, saving the world and keeping my friends alive; age’s finally caught up with me. I’m definitely way too old for this...”

  
 _You’re not even twenty-one yet, Hermione. Pull yourself together— wait, how old is McGonagall?_  
  
  
Her students were lovely.   
  
  
They really were... for the most part.   
  
  
When they weren’t blowing things up, hexing each other —or themselves— by mistake, falling asleep during lectures here and there...   
  
  
They were lovely, but they could be awfully exhausting at times.   
  
  
Unsurprisingly, the braver ones — _or more naïve_ , a dark voice in Hermione’s mind crooned— would often ask about the Second Wizarding War. About events like the Triwizard Tournament, _His_ rise from the dead, the creation of _Dumbledore’s Army_ , the Battle of the Department of Mysteries, their former Headmasters’ demises, the infiltration into the Ministry, the infamous Gringotts break-in, the Battle of Hogwarts... the students wanted to know _all_ about the renowned _Golden Trio_ — _hah, more like Golden Duo,_ the blasted voice murmured again, _they rarely ask anything about you—_ and their endless adventures. About Harry’s heroic deeds and Ronald’s famous fight against Augustus Rookwood.  
  
  
 _ **“Don’t you dare touch my brothers!” Ron exclaimed furiously, letting go of her and joining Percy in his battle against the amused-looking Death Eater. “You won’t hurt my family ever again!”  
  
  
**_ _ **After snapping out of her momentary stupor, Hermione helped a heavily wounded Fred run away from the improvised battlefield.**_  
  
  
Nobody wanted to hear about the ‘boring’ part; the logistics and weeks —if not months— of investigation and careful scheming. The brains behind her friends’ amazing and heroic deeds. The duller and less action-oriented stories. Not even the Ravenclaw students wanted to hear about that! That made her feel very bitter and petty— unwanted and neglected.  
  
  
 _Well..._ Hermione thought tiredly, rolling onto her back. _Almost nobody wants to hear about those stories...  
  
  
_ Whenever she talked about the Golden Trio’s adventures, a certain someone would pay close attention and ask questions of her own on occasion. Questions regarding _her_ involvement in said adventures, _her_ schemes and plans. Those silver eyes blazed with —poorly masked, in Hermione’s humble opinion— enthusiasm and interest whenever the Transfiguration professor explained the logistics behind a particular event.   
  
  
**_“You are Hermione Granger.”_**

  
“I should ask her about that...” Hermione whispered against the carmine pillow, staring at her beaded handbag distractedly. _Almost_ expectantly, waiting for her part-Kneazle to play with it— but Crookshanks never jumped on it, sniffed it curiously, tossed it back and forth as though it were a ball... her heart writhed painfully upon thinking about her beloved Crookshanks.  
  
  
A few days after the Battle of Hogwarts, Mrs. Weasley had informed her that Crookshanks had died a peaceful death during her absence— shortly after Bill and Fleur’s wedding fiasco, actually. He had fallen asleep one day, hogging Mr. Weasley’s favourite seat rather cheekily, and... well, he never woke up again. They had buried him outside the Burrow, honouring his memory with a nice little gravestone.   
  
  
_**“Oh, dear... I’m so sorry for your loss. The poor thing was too old, too fragile. He’s someplace better now, rest assured,” said Molly gently, hugging her close.**_  
  
  
 _ **Not once did Hermione’s golden eyes leave Crookshanks’ small headstone. It was orange, like the Weasleys’ signature hair. Orange, like Crookshanks himself.**_  
  
  
 _ **She tried to laugh along but ended up sobbing instead. After all that had happened to her all year long, she still had more than enough tears to shed somehow. “I-I am not so sure about the fragile part, Molly...”  
  
  
**_ “I miss you so much, Crooks...”  
  
  
The muggle-born felt cold, so very cold. As though a Dementor were lying in bed right next to her, hugging her tight. Her very heart seemed to pump misery through her veins, vicious and all-consuming, instead of warm blood. There was simply no way to soothe the never-ending in her chest, the one that took her breath away and held her heart in a deathly grasp.  
  
  
Hermione had spent a year preparing herself for the N.E.W.T. exams at Hogwarts. Roughly six months living with the Weasley family at the Burrow, cracking fake smiles day after day. Two years and a half travelling around the world, visiting dozens of new countries and cultures, reading countless scientific articles and various novels, detaching herself completely from the wizarding world, putting her most treasured friendships on hold, finding her parents in Australia and rebuilding her family. Four years trying to find herself again... and in the end, all had been for _nought._ Hermione had done _so_ many things to keep her dark mind busy at all times, but the voracious pain remained, as vicious and sickening as the very first day.  


_If not even more..._  
  
  
With an exhausted sigh, Hermione got out of bed.  
  
  
Her entire body ached, craving the mattress’ softness and warmth, but she soldiered on. Just like she always did.  
  
  
Fighting against her traitorous body and mind, Hermione walked towards her —hers, not Minerva’s; she had actually refurbished the cosy office after moving in— desk thoughtfully. There were various moving letters and old-looking letters scattered across the oak table. The photographs —all of them pictured her with Harry, Ron, Ginny, the Weasley family and Luna through the years— made her feel a bit uneasy. Everyone looked so happy, so untroubled, so full of life and love... they glanced at her and smiled warmly, some of them waving their hands enthusiastically.  
  
  
Her stomach churned unpleasantly at the sight.   
  
  
_Guilt, it has to be guilt... because I screwed everything up. Because I left everyone behind. Because I left without saying a word._

  
Swallowing hard, Hermione focused on the letters instead. The familiar handwritings always put her at ease, if only a little— that was the reason why she read them time and time again whenever the pain became too much. Reading was good, reading kept her somewhat grounded.

  
  


_Dear Ms. Granger,_

_  
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment._

_  
Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July._

_  
__Yours sincerely,_

_  
Minerva McGonagall_

_Deputy Headmistress_ _  
_

_  
_Inevitably, Hermione cracked a very small smile. The letter was almost a decade old now, but it still put a —usually wide— smile on her face whenever she read it. With a few conservation spells, the letter looked as good as new.  
  
  
If she focused hard enough, she could vaguely hear her eleven-year-old self shrieking in sheer shock and undeniable glee upon reading McGonagall’s letter. A little girl with bushy hair, long teeth and no friends whatsoever. A little girl with doe-eyes and great expectations. A little girl who could never begin to imagine what the magical world had in store for her. A little girl who would have to raise herself from her muddy knees all on her own time and time again. A little girl who would have to prove her worth to a bigoted world which would reject her countless times over the years. A little girl who would have the weight of the entire world resting upon her shoulders from that moment on.

  
Sighing wearily, she moved onto the next letter.

  
  


_Dear Hermione,_

_  
We lost. I’m not allowed to bring him back to Hogwarts. Execution date to be fixed._

_  
Beaky has enjoyed London._

_  
I won’t forget all the help you gave us._

_  
Hagrid_

  
  


The muggle-born’s smile faltered, a myriad of memories playing behind her now closed eyelids in a loop. The never-ending arguments with Ron, the time turner, the Marauder’s Map, all the encounters and issues with the blasted Dementors, their best Defense Against the Dark Arts professor being a werewolf, Peter Pettigrew being Scabers, Sirius Black escaping from Azkaban and turning out to be Harry’s godfather...

  
“That was a really intense year,” Hermione joked dryly, trying to alleviate the growing pressure on her chest. Unsurprisingly, it only made things worse. With a pained sigh, she opened her eyes and caressed the many tear stains scattered across the small note. “But we did it. We won, Hagrid. We always do.”

  
Hermione eyed the next letter, way more recent than the last two.

_Dear Ms. Granger,_

_  
I am pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Not as a student, but as a professor. Sadly, I cannot continue being the Head of Gryffindor and the Transfiguration professor now that I am Headmistress. That is why I am reaching out to you: I want you to be my successor, Miss Granger— Hermione, as I hope you’ll let me call you from now on._

_  
I believe you would do exceptionally fine. After all, you’ve always had a penchant for Transfiguration (one that rivals my own) and helping those in need. You’ve helped Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley more times than I can count, which speaks volumes of your teaching skills. And don’t even get me started about that Dumbledore’s Army of yours. Furthermore, you’ve brought great honour to our House over the years. You still do. There’s nobody as qualified as you for the job, Hermione._

_  
I do not want you to pressure into anything; that is the last thing I wish to do. I know you’ve been distancing yourself from the magical world for more than two years now, trying to find a semblance of normality after the war, and I respect your decisions wholeheartedly. We all have your best interests at heart. If you choose to stay away, we’ll understand...  
  
_ _  
__You’re always welcome here, Hermione. Regardless of your answer to this letter, Hogwarts will always accept you with open arms. Hogwarts is your home; you have many friends here. You’re not alone, Hermione. And I mean that quite literally, actually. Sirius Black became our Defense Against the Dark Arts professor two years ago. Neville Longbottom dropped out of his Auror training last year— he’s our Herbology professor and Head of Hufflepuff now. Very long story, I’ll tell you that. Pomona’s still around, working on the greenhouse as dedicatedly as ever; in case you were curious. Luna Lovegood is here as well, she’s Hagrid’s helper now. And there’s us. The rest of the staff. We’ve always admired your courage, intelligence and determination— you fought against all odds and rose victorious. We’ll always be there for you, Hermione. Through thick and thin, as Muggles say.  
  
  
_ _Please, think about it._

_  
As always, term begins on 1 September. I await your owl by no later than 31 July._

_Yours sincerely,_

_  
Minerva McGonagall_

_Headmistress of Hogwarts_

  
  


The letter brought forth a new wave of tears.  
  
  
 _Happy_ tears.

  
Hermione had been in bed that day, unable to move. Wallowing in misery and self-pity. Debating on whether contacting Ginny and Harry would be a good idea or not. Ronald had been out of the picture, painfully so; considering... well, considering their highly unpleasant break-up right before Hermione had returned to the muggle world for good. That day, one of Hogwarts’ owls had landed on her windowsill, putting an end to her inner turmoil momentarily. The bird had pecked the pane until Hermione got out of bed begrudgingly and opened the window.

  
After reading the letter five —maybe even six— times, Hermione had cracked a stupidly wide smile. For the first time in four long years, Hermione Jean Granger had been _truly_ happy and enthused about something in her miserable life.

  
The last letter made her _laugh._

_Dear Hermione,_

_  
Minerva’s told us you’ve accepted the job! I am so happy right now._

_  
Neville is ecstatic, he nearly fainted when we told him the news. Luna smiled and said, “I know, the Nargles told me” in that dreamy voice of hers. A bit of a killjoy, but that’s the Luna we all know and love. And Sirius—_ _dear Merlin, Sirius wants to throw a huge party._

_  
In your honour, he says. I think he just wants an excuse to get us all wasted before school starts again, the bloody madman._

_  
I’ll see you on September 1st, take care!_

_  
Hagrid  
_

With a quiet chuckle, Hermione brought the note to her chest.  
  
  
Fortunately for her, the unbearable pain and oppressive numbness alleviated somewhat. A sudden wave of happiness rushed through her veins, warming her cold body up in a matter of seconds.  
  


She could imagine the scene rather vividly: Minerva spreading the word, Neville getting so excited that he almost passed out right on the spot, Luna smiling that wistful smile of hers, Sirius popping some firewhiskey bottles open with a wide smirk, Hagrid trying to turn the drinks down but chugging them in one go either way. Hermione could easily imagine them celebrating together, happy and enthused... Eager to have her by their side once more... because they had missed her.  
  
  
Golden eyes landed upon the moving photographs again.  
  
  
This time, their warm smiles made her feel at peace.  
  
  
A particular picture caught her attention.  
  
  
They were playing wizard chess at the Burrow, she and Harry. Summer after first year, probably. Harry had just moved his knight to E5, taking one of her pawns down. As the chess piece shattered, both kids looked at her and cracked a toothy smile. Little Harry waved his hand enthusiastically, laughing.

  
 _I miss them... God, I really do...  
_  
  
It was time to swallow her pride and get in touch with her friends again. 

  
Sighing, Hermione sat down and grabbed a piece of parchment. With a flick of her wand, her best ink and quill appeared before her. She closed her eyes and took a deep, deep breath.

**_  
“Please, owl Harry when you have time, will you? The boys— everyone misses you terribly, Hermione. I know things are hard and shitty, but you shouldn’t push your friends away. Don’t try to deal with everything on your own, okay? You’re not alone.”  
_**

**_  
“I’ll keep that in mind.”_ **

  
Hermione licked her lips, eyeing the parchment thoughtfully. “What has kept me from contacting you for so long?”

 _  
Your jealousy, your inability to be happy for your friends, your selfishness, your constant need for more..._

  
Shoving those unpleasant thoughts away, Hermione shook her head whilst cracking her knuckles, grabbed her quill and started writing.

_Dearest Harry, and Ginny if you’re there (I am positively sure that you’ll get your hands on this letter at one point or another),_

_  
I am so sorry. For leaving you without a proper explanation, for disappearing practically overnight, for falling out of touch with you. With_ _everyone. _ _I don’t have an excuse. I really don’t. I just needed some alone time, to be away from the wizarding world, to figure everything out on my own; so I turned tail and ran. You cannot imagine just how much I’ve missed you throughout the past two years and a half._

_  
Is there any chance we could… I don’t know, start over with a clean slate? I would love to have my friends back, but I’ll understand if you’d rather keep your distance from me. An eye for an eye, as they say._

_  
Harry— I now understand how strong you are. I’ve always admired that from you, your ability to keep on moving forward no matter what. I hope that your job as an Auror is everything you’ve ever wanted and even more. You deserve the entire world, Harry. I also hope that you haven’t stopped playing Quidditch! Whenever I hear my students talking about it, I cannot help but think about you._

_  
And talking about Quidditch— Ginny, a couple of Gryffindors have told me that you’re playing Chaser for the Holyhead Harpies now. Congratulations! You always talked about just how much you wanted to go professional and join them as they have always been your favourite team. I am so proud of you, Gin. And so, so happy. I’ll be cheering you on once the British and Irish Quidditch League comes around this year. That’s a promise._

_  
Things around Hogwarts are pretty much the same as always. I’m still trying to get used to eating with the other professors, being called Professor Granger by mostly everyone here, talking about_ _Transfiguration all day long, remembering everyone’s surnames (they’re a lot, trust me, I still get them mixed up from time to time) and having my own office, but things are going quite well!_

_  
_

“At least for the most part,” Hermione sighed, choosing not to add that afterthought in the letter. _Yes, definitely not going to tell them about— well, my recent episodes. There’s no need to be dramatic._

_Please send Athena back with your reply. Be careful, she likes to peck strangers at first. Give her some snacks and she’ll warm up to you right away._

_  
Lots of love,_

_Hermione_

  
  
  
Pleased with the result, Hermione folded the letter with great care and put it inside an envelope. “Hello, girl,” she crooned quietly, opening Athena’s cage with a small smile. “I need you to take this to the Burrow. Please don’t bite anyone’s fingers off, okay?”

  
The large brown owl hooted, grabbed the letter with her beak and flew towards the open window. 

  
Hermione watched her fade away into the starry night sky, nervous and bone tired. After a couple of minutes, she returned to bed and sank into the soft mattress with a happy sigh. Sleep caught up with her in a matter of seconds.

_  
Everything is going to be alright._

_  
I hope..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today I offer you another anecdote. This one dates back to October 30th, some days after I got the idea for this fic.
> 
> Me: 
> 
> Cygnus: I want an heir!
> 
> Bella: I think the fuck not.
> 
> Cygnus: Okay, let's try again.
> 
> Andy: Bitch, you thought.
> 
> Cygnus: Can I at least have ONE son?
> 
> Cissy: 👁👄👁
> 
> This is so cursed... And a perfect summary of their family life LMAO, why am I like this?
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoyed this chapter! See you next time (tomorrow? the day after? who knows)


	4. IV: Found again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter, woah! It is definitely not 1:25 am right now.
> 
> Anyway, I wanted to clarify something: 
> 
> I made a miscalculation (I failed math for a reason, can you blame me?) and got their ages wrong. I was thinking "well, Hermione is five years older than Bellatrix, so I just have to add five years to Bellatrix’s age to get Hermione’s". I did not remember that Hermione was 18 when the war ended. 
> 
> My thought process literally was: 1st year = 11 y/o, 2nd year = 12 y/o, 3rd year = 13 y/o, and so on and so forth. Ah, I’ve never been good with numbers.
> 
> Hermione is about to turn 21 and Bella is 16 in this point of the story (she’ll turn 17 soon). This is indeed four years after the war (I've used a calculator and all, there's no way I'm getting this wrong now) Seriously, sorry. I’m just useless at math. Hope that clarifies everything! Peace out! _passes out_

A Howler.

  
Ginny had sent her a Howler. 

_  
Oh, joy..._

  
Bracing herself for the absolute worst —Ginny was, after all, her mother’s daughter—, Hermione broke the red seal with shaky hands. _Ignoring a Howler does more bad than good,_ she thought whilst watching the Howler shake aggressively for a few seconds. Eventually, it stilled and floated closer to her face.

 _  
“HERMIONE JEAN_ _GRANGER!”_

  
The woman flinched and stepped back, landing on the soft mattress of her bed. _Ah, here we go again..._  
  
  
“YOU LOVABLE, SELFLESS IDIOT. WE WERE SO WORRIED ABOUT YOU, GIRL!” Ginny’s voice cracked noticeably, heavy with relief and— something akin to sadness. “WE’VE MISSED YOU SO DAMN MUCH, HERMIONE. THINGS HAVE BEEN SO DIFFERENT WITHOUT YOU AROUND— so weird, dull and empty... I am _so_ happy that you’ve contacted us again... I-I thought that...”  
  
  
The Howler pursed its paper lips and sniffed. The action was strangely cute.  
  
  
“THERE’S NO NEED TO START OVER WITH A CLEAN STATE, SILLY! WE’D LOVE TO HAVE YOU BACK IN OUR LIVES.”  
  
  
Hope and warmth bubbled pleasantly in her chest.  
  
  
They wanted her back! Her friends, who were like a second family to her, wanted her back...  
  
  
“WE HAVE TO MEET. AS SOON AS POSSIBLE... OH, I GOT IT! YOUR BIRTHDAY IS IN TWO WEEKS, LET’S CELEBRATE IT TOGETHER!”  
  
  
A quiet sob danced off her lips. _Dear lord, celebrating my birthday with them... that sounds so lovely— and a bit terrifying, honestly.  
  
_  
“We could have some drinks at The Three Broomsticks...” mumbled Harry thoughtfully. His voice was rather raspy and hoarse, as though he’d been crying. “Just like in the old days. Catch up a bit, share anecdotes, drink some butterbeers... I’ll owl Sirius in a bit. I’m sure we can organise something nice together.”  
  
  
“Great idea,” hummed Ginny; her voice was soft yet heavy with adoration. “ANYWAY— BACK TO YOU, MISS GRANGER!” For a second, the Howler grimaced before sighing deeply. “How’s life treating you, Hermione? We’ve been worried sick about you... You left without a word! Everyone thought you needed some space after your breakup with Ron, but then you disappeared all of a sudden. We couldn’t contact you, couldn’t find you... WE FEARED THE ABSOLUTE WORST!”  
  
  
Hermione chewed on her lower lip, feeling guilty and ashamed. That had certainly _not_ been her intention...   
  
  
_Well, I guess some apologies are in order..._  
  
  
“And don’t you even _DARE_ think about apologising!” Ginny exclaimed, voice laced with undeniable understanding. The redhead knew her far, far too well. “None of this is your fault, Hermione. After the war... after all the sorrow and pain... we all coped in many different ways. We get it— almost everyone does. Adapt and evolve. Is that how the saying goes? I think so... anyway! What I’m trying to say is; Hermione, it’s okay. I’m— we’re all so glad you contacted us again. We really are...” She paused and hummed thoughtfully. “Actually, I think mom’s crying in the kitchen right now— yep, definitely crying down there. No worries, they’re happy tears. You know just how emotional she can get when it comes to the family, especially her children.”  
  
  
Ginny’s bubbly laughter joined Hermione’s choked one.  
  
  
“I’m so proud of you. We all are! When Sirius told us about your new job, we felt... Merlin, there’re no words to express how relieved, proud and ecstatic we felt,” continued Ginny happily. Hermione could practically _hear_ the smile on her voice. “Transfiguration teacher, Head of Gryffindor and Professor Granger... damn, those titles fit you like a glove, girl! Good luck dealing with all those kids pulling pranks on each other, though. You’re gonna hate Fred and George by the end of the month, hands down. Maybe even sooner, if you’re unlucky enough.”  
  
  
Hermione ran a hand through her messy curls, sighing thoughtfully.   
  
  
Yes, Minerva had warned her about that. Apparently, many students loved Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes and their questionable goods with a burning passion. The thought made her smile a little— the twins’ business had always been a spectacular success, which had helped the Weasley family’s poor financial situation greatly.  
  
  
They deserved it, they really did. That family deserved the entire world and then some more.  
  
  
“I’d ask you more questions, but... y’know, there’s really no point in that. We’re gonna meet in a couple of weeks, after all! Merlin, I cannot wait to see you again. Maybe I should stop by from time to time... give good ol’ McGonagall a scare and visit Hagrid for a bit. Teach the Gryffindor team some cool tricks an’ whatnot. Ah, the options are endless... in any case! I’ll leave you now, I’m pretty sure you’ve got lots of things to do.” That made Hermione sad; she wished to hear her best friend’s reassuring voice for a bit longer. “Take care, okay? SEE YOU ON SEPTEMBER 19th!”  
  
  
And with that being said; the Howler kissed her cheek gently, flew away from her and burst into flames. Hermione stared at the ashes for a couple of minutes with a dumb smile on her tear-stained face.  
  
  
Yes, everything would be alright.   
  
  
Her family missed her, wanted her back...  
  
  
 _God, how I’ve—_ her stomach growled loudly, putting an abrupt end to that heartwarming line of thought. _Thank God nobody was around to see that...  
  
  
_ Still bone-tired, Hermione entered the little bathroom adjacent to the office and took a much-needed shower. Miraculously enough, the hot water washed away her exhaustion and fears somewhat. Just a little bit, enough to feel refreshed and renewed for once. With a lazy flick of her wand, she dried her hair and summoned clean clothes.   
  
  
Now fully dressed and considerably relaxed, Hermione went to the Great Hall.   
  
  
There weren’t many students around, which was a blessing. Sleep-ins on Sunday mornings were an unspoken tradition of sorts among the students, after all. Furthermore, only a few professors were there —Trelawney, Slughorn, Minerva and Sirius—, chatting amongst themselves whilst keeping a close eye on the few students present.   
  
  
Hermione sauntered down the narrow hallway common to the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables, avoiding visual contact with pretty much everyone around her. Not once did she look away from the professors’ table, still afraid of meeting those scorching silver eyes of hers. Just a little— _okay, maybe a lot. I really need to work on that..._   
  
  
“Ah, look who’s decided to show up!” greeted Sirius with a wide smile. There was a letter beneath his left hand; signed by one Harry Potter— _darn, that was fast._ “I see you’ve actually followed my advice! Excellent choice, in my humble opinion. You should do that more often.”  
  
  
Rolling her eyes playfully, Hermione placed a toast on her plate. “Don’t flatter yourself, Sirius— I’ve missed them terribly...” She exhaled wearily, a small smile tugging at her lips, and shook her head. “Ginny sent me a Howler this morning, that’s why I was late. Funny, I’ve seen _way_ more explosive Howlers before.”  
  
  
“Is that so?” Sirius asked, raising an eyebrow.  
  
  
“In our second year, Mrs. Weasley sent Ronald a Howler,” she answered, chuckling softly to herself. _“Ronald Weasley, how **dare** you steal that car?” _Hermione quoted from memory, keeping her voice carefully low. Judging by the way Sirius snorted, nearly choking on his drink; she had done a pretty nice impression of Molly Weasley. “And in my fourth year— well, I used to get a lot of hate mail. I went to the Yule Ball with Viktor Krum, so lots of people got _very_ jealous and sent me some Howlers here and then. _And_ Rita Skeeter spread some nasty rumours about me because she hated my guts. Said that I was playing with Harry and Viktor at the same time... what a horrid woman, honestly.”  
  
  
Sirius scratched his chin thoughtfully. “Huh... I vaguely remember something along those lines, yes. Didn’t you burn most of the hate mail in the Common Room?”  
  
  
Hermione nodded, reaching out for her calyx. “That I did, yes,” she said before taking a long sip of her coffee— _drinking coffee straight from a chalice, how weird..._ “Best thing I’ve done in ages. What about you? Ever seen an explosive Howler?”  
  
  
“I think you may have a thing for arson,” laughed Sirius. “And yeah, once— my mother sent me a Howler after I got sorted into Gryffindor... charming woman...”  
  
  
Taking a bite of her toast, Hermione raised an eyebrow. “Really? I cannot imag—” she paused, recalling Walburga Black’s impossibly loud and rude portrait. “Actually, scratch that. I definitely can imagine that. What did she say?”   
  
  
Sirius threw his head back, smirking. _“Say_ is the understatement of the century, ‘Mione. Of the millennium, really. And I cannot tell you— there’re kids around,” he answered in a stage-whisper, nodding at some first years.   
  
  
Hermione laughed, rolling her eyes good-naturedly.  
  
  
None of them talked for a while after that, too busy having breakfast and listening to Trelawney and Slughorn’s heated discussion. “Astrology versus Science, round— I dunno, I’ve actually lost count because this happens nearly every time they have lunch together,” Sirius had said at some point, watching the argument get more and more intense with a wide grin. He looked like a kid on Christmas day.  
  
  
Eventually, Hermione sighed and skimmed over Harry’s letter. One thing was for certain; his messy scrawl hadn’t changed at all in four years.  
  
  
“I’ve missed them, Sirius...”  
  
  
Turning away from the blown-out quarrel, Sirius smiled at her warmly. “I can imagine, ‘Mione,” he said, patting her shoulder reassuringly. “Been there, done that. I missed Remus terribly during my— ah, more than _pleasant_ and _justified_ stay in Azkaban. He’s way better company than those blasted Dementors,” he jested, winking at her. “And I’ve missed James and Lily dearly for almost two decades now. Don’t get me started on Regulus...” His expression turned sombre, nostalgia and regret sparkling bright within his grey eyes. “So— yeah, I know how you feel.”  
  
  
Hermione returned his smile, though the action felt forced. Exhaustion seeped into her bones, taking hold of her body again. “I’m sorry, Sirius...” She sighed, meeting his pained eyes. “They want to meet up with me. I still cannot believe it! Harry said something about celebrating my birthday at The Three Broomsticks together. Is this— is this a dream? If it is, please don’t wake me up.”  
 _  
  
_Sirius shook his head, tapping the letter with his index finger. “This is definitely real. He’s asked me to book a table or two when possible. Seems like we’re gonna have quite the gathering.”  
  
  
Raising her eyebrows, Hermione took a bite of her toast. “Really? Who’s joining?”  
  
  
“Oh, you know... Most of the Weasley family, Moony, Minnie, Hagrid, Neville, Luna, Harry and yours truly!” He smirked, waving at her with a flourish. “And the birthday girl, but of course. Just your usual Friday night.”  
  
  
“That sounds...” Hermione stopped talking, feeling overwhelmed all of a sudden. _Terrifying? Nerve-wracking? A bit too crowded for my liking? What if I make things awkward in front of so many people?_ “That sounds quite nice! Madam Rosmerta’s going to have such a field day.”  
  
  
Sirius shook his head, still smirking. “More like field _night_ , my friend. We’ll be celebrating on September 19th, remember?”  
  
  
“WHAT?” Hermione exclaimed, flabbergasted; drawing most of the students’ attention. Her scream had even stopped Trelawney and Slughorn’s argument for a second somehow. Blushing profusely, she apologised and turned to Sirius again. “You can’t be bloody serious,” she hissed indignantly, “we have class the following day, in case you’ve forgotten.”  
  
  
Amused, the man leaned against his backrest. There was a mischievous glint in his eye. “Oh, but I am! They don’t call me _Sirius_ Black for nothing.” He laughed boisterously when Hermione buried her face in her hands, groaning softly and seemingly regretting her poor life choices. “I really don’t see the problem here, ‘Mione.”  
  
  
“As I’ve said,” whispered Hermione in retaliation. “We have class the following day, we cannot just hang out in The Three Broomsticks during workdays. That’s totally unprofessional!”  
  
  
Taking a sip of his pumpkin juice, Sirius snorted. “Is that so? Then why, pray tell, is Minnie going to join us?”   
  
  
McGonagall glanced at them, amusement swirling within her teal eyes, and nodded lightly. Her lips twitched as she focused on her colleagues’ heated argument once again— unsurprisingly, she made a snide comment in Slughorn’s favour.  
  
  
“Hermione, if you cannot hold your alco—”  
  
  
The witch whacked his arm playfully, still red in the face. “I can hold my alcohol just fine, thank you very much...”  
  
  
“Besides,” continued Sirius, “haven’t you broken a gazillion rules throughout your school years? What’s stopping you now, ‘Mione?”  
  
  
“I have responsibiliti—” Sirius’ amused cackle interrupted her. Shaking her head, Hermione exhaled through her nose. “Very mature, Sirius; very mature...”  
  
  
Sirius bowed mockingly. “Why thank you, Hermione. Maturity’s definitely one of my most defining qualities, wouldn’t you agree?” he joked, rubbing his chin with a smile. “You really need to loosen up, Hermione. Live a little... literally! You’ve gone through so much shit, why not have some fun now that you can? Nobody’s gonna judge you.” His smile morphed into a cheeky grin. “No teacher is gonna give you detention— or even worse!” He feigned a nasty shudder and lowered his voice. “Expel you...”  
  
  
“Shut up, will you?” Hermione replied weakly, looking away from his teasing grin. She glanced at the students’ tables, purposefully ignoring the Slytherin one _even though_ she couldn’t feel those scorching silver eyes on her— _well, that’s weird..._ Still, she didn’t dare look; her poor heart could only handle so much. “I just... don’t know what to do, what to expect.”

  
“Ah, do we ever know? They’re your friends, Hermione, there’s no need to be nervous around them,” reassured Sirius.

  
Hermione bit her lower lip. “What about Ron?”

  
Thinking about her ex-boyfriend hurt. It really did...   
  
  
They had dated for about a year and a half, but their relationship had been... absolutely non-existent, for the lack of a better word. Ron had become an Auror, basking in his post-war glory at all times, whilst Hermione finished her seventh year at Hogwarts and took her N.E.W.T. exams. Sure, Hermione _had_ moved in with him at some point, but he had never been around much— and when he did show up, he would smile goofily and pull her close. The painful void had remained, just like it always did, growing larger and larger with each passing day. Still, their breakup had been downright heartrending. Too many screams, too many tears, too many emotions— none of them precisely positive...

  
Sirius hummed thoughtfully, running his index finger along the rim of his calyx. “You two have known each other since you were eleven, I’m sure you’ll find common ground again if he does show up.” With a sigh, he took a long sip. “If you two don’t come to an agreement... well, we’ll make sure that things don’t go south, do rest assured.”

  
“Thank you so much, Sirius.”

  
“No need to thank me. That’s what friends are for, ‘Mione,” he said. That blasted mischievous glint in his eye returned. “How did your first week at Hogwarts go?”

  
Much to Sirius’ blatant amusement, Hermione groaned loudly.


	5. V: Warmth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is I, Lilith, posting at 1:30am yet again. I may or may have not made myself sad with this one. The next one is gonna have some nice drama too, so buckle up!

“Before you leave!” Hermione exclaimed all of a sudden, looking at the fourth-year students with a small smile. Shockingly enough, there was a mischievous glint in her eye. “Could _anyone_ tell me the incantation for the Vanishing Spell, the light it produces and its effects?”  
  
  
Mostly everyone made a face, slumping back onto their seats rather awkwardly.  
  
  
Nobody talked for a minute or two.  
  
  
“I— er, Professor Granger?” Victoria Rabnott, a bushy-haired Gryffindor, mumbled shyly. “That’s not— I mean... that spell’s taught in fifth year.”  
  
  
Hermione tilted her head to the side, smiling warmly at the nervous student. “I’m well aware, Miss Rabnott; I just wanted to—”  
  
  
Andromeda Black raised her hand gradually, stopping Hermione mid-sentence. Her expression was one of determination and self-assurance, not unlike that of her older sister— _they’re carbon copies of each other,_ thought Hermione nervously, _with a few and almost imperceptible differences..._  
  
  
The professor swallowed hard, drumming her fingers on the table behind. _Oh, for God’s sake! Pull yourself together already, Granger. You don’t want a repeat of what happened with Bellatrix, do you?  
  
  
_ Taking a deep, deep breath; Hermione nodded at her. “Yes, Miss Black?”  
  
  
“ _Evanesco_ , Professor Granger!” answered Andromeda eagerly, making proper emphasis on the ‘es’ syllable. “And it doesn’t produce any light. As for its effects— er, well... as the name implies, the spell vanishes both animate and inanimate objects into non-being, which is to say, everything.”  
  
  
 _Those are McGonagall’s words... I remember them from fourth year,_ mused Hermione with a half-smile. _Looks like someone’s being tutored by her sister. Why am I not surprised?_  
  
  
Intrigued, Hermione questioned her a little further. “Correct, correct. And... can all objects be vanished?”

  
Seemingly pleased with the challenge, Andromeda tilted her chin up and flashed the infamous Slytherin smirk. _The resemblance between them is a bit scary, to be honest..._ “In theory, yes. However, certain objects can be enchanted to resist the Vanishing Spells.”  
  
  
Hermione nodded wistfully, remeniscing about the time Fred and George had charmed their Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes fireworks. Should anyone try to vanish them, not only would they remain tangible but also multiply by _ten_ with each and every attempt. Inevitably, the memory of their master prank — _take that, you pink toad—_ came back to mind.   
  
  
“Excellent, Miss Black. Ten points to Slytherin!” said Hermione, smiling warmly at a proud-looking Andromeda. Happiness softened her aristocratic features, made her eyes impossibly warmer. _Brown, they’re brown... ice blue, chocolate brown and Sickle silver. Filled with self-assurance and lurking smugness at all times. So different yet so_ _alike._ “Class dismissed. Those of you who cannot cast the _Orchideous_ spell just yet, please practice overnight. I will examine you tomorrow again. Enjoy the rest of your afternoon!”  
  
  
When the last straggler finally left the classroom, Hermione’s smile morphed into a pained grimace.  
  
  
Slumping on her chair carelessly, she let out a long-drawn-out exhale. “September 19th... today’s _the_ day,” mumbled the witch in an exhausted voice, glancing at her little calendar with a blank expression. “Or, as Sirius would say, _the_ night.”  
  
  
Torn between absolute dread and overwhelming elation, Hermione rubbed her temples. The left side of her forehead throbbed mildly, which often indicated the beginning of a migraine. _Fantastic, just what I needed..._  
  
  
“What am I going to do?” Hermione wondered quietly, closing her tired —and worryingly dry— eyes for a brief yet delightful moment. Sleep hadn’t been kind to her the prior night. “What am I even supposed to say—? _Hello, everyone! Sorry for ditching you all out of nowhere for four years!_ I— dear God, I’m going to make things awkward...” The mere thought made Hermione sick, to the point where her stomach was up in knots again. Anxious, she looked at her clock. Nearly 7 pm. Sighing in defeat, she ran a hand through her hair. “Well... there’s only one way to know. C’mon, Hermione, you’ve fought deadlier battles. You can do this. You can—”  
  
  
Her voice died off, pitiful and small.  
  
  
Tears welled up in her golden eyes.  
  
  
 _FUCK!_  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Hermione stood in front of the inn, hands clenched tight inside her jacket’s pockets— they were cold, clammy and shaking beyond control. In addition, her heart was _thundering_ in her chest; almost as though it were trying to tear through its bony cage and break free. Dear lord, she could practically _hear_ her heart pounding frantically between her ears and—  
  


And someone hugged her from behind, slow and gentle. And so, so warm... “Happy birthday, Hermione.”  
  
  
“Ginny,” gasped Hermione, blinking back tears.  
  
  
“In the flesh!” The redhead —her best friend, if she still had the right to call her that— laughed softly, letting go of her.   
  
  
Hermione felt cold, anxiousness bubbling up in her chest. _No, wait... come back, please!_  
  
  
Ginny walked around her, stopping in front of her with a wide smile, and pulled her into a bone-crushing hug. “Merlin... how I’ve missed you, ‘Mione.”  
  
  
 _Much better..._ Hermione hugged her back eagerly, hiding her face on the crook of Ginny’s neck and taking a deep breath. The redhead smelled like Mrs. Weasley’s homemade pastries, jasmine and a touch of Harry’s earthy perfume. _Smells like home...  
  
  
_ Ginny chuckled softly, rubbing soothing circles on her back. “It’s okay, ‘Mione.”  
  
  
Dear lord, when had she started crying?  
  
  
“There you are!” a male voice exclaimed from afar, quickly joining their side. Hermione pulled away from Ginny and hugged him tightly, sniffling on his jacket-clad shoulder. “What a welcome,” Harry jested wryly, wrapping his arms around her trembling frame. Close, warm, safe... “Hello, Hermione. Happy birthday.”  
  
  
Hermione sobbed, happiness bubbling in her chest.  
  
  
Her friends shared a knowing look.  
  
  
“Is anybody else here, ‘Mione?” Harry asked, patting her back reassuringly.  
  
  
“Ah, dunno...” Hermione whispered hoarsely. “Just got here. I-I think is inside already, but I’m not entirely sure.”  
  
  
Harry hummed. “Brilliant! I’m gonna see if he’s there, say hello to Madam Rosmerta an’ all that... Gin, mind swapping places with me?”  
  
  
With a watery smile, Hermione pulled away and ruffled his messy hair. He laughed joyfully, blushing a bit, and entered The Three Broomsticks with an impossibly wide smile on his face.  
  
  
The coldness returned, but not overwhelmingly so. It was more of a bearable buzz now, a barely-there hum.  
  
  
“Hermione?” said Ginny quietly, staring at her with warmth swirling in her bright brown eyes. “Welcome back. We’ve missed you so, so much...”  
  
  
“I’m home,” whispered Hermione, fighting back another sob. Then, she noticed a small bag in Ginny’s right hand. “Say, what’s in there?”  
  
  
Almost immediately, her friend’s freckled features softened and brightened up even further. She winked, walking towards the inn with a mischievous smile. “You’ll see in a bit. Come on, let’s join those two.”   
  
  
Hermione rubbed her eyes and followed her, feeling lighter than ever before.  
  
  
They immediately spotted Sirius, Remus Lupin — _ah, so that’s why Sirius left early_ — and Harry, who were talking enthusiastically near the fireplace whilst assembling three tables together. “Bill, Charlie, Percy and Ron cannot make it today, but the rest of us are here!” Ginny explained, waving at Sirius and Remus with her free hand. Hermione did the same, though a bit more shyly. “Fred and George are at Zonko’s right now, keeping an eye on the competition and whatnot— they’re thinking about buying the premises and turning the store into a Weasleys’ Wizards Wheezes outlet. Mom and dad are strolling about round Hogsmeade and reminiscing their student years. They should all be here soon.”  
  
  
“I-I see,” replied Hermione, both anxious and excited. “Minerva said she’d wait for Hagrid, Neville and Luna at the bridge. I believe it won’t be long till they get here...”  
  
  
The inn’s door flew open right on cue.  
  
  
The Weasley family stepped inside, chatting and laughing amongst themselves; promptly followed by the other professors. Everyone smiled wide and bright upon spotting her— even her colleagues, who’d seen her all day long. Hermione’s heart fluttered pleasantly, pumping both joy and nervousness into her system.  
  
  
“Hermione, happy birthday!”  
  
  
 _Home,_ the witch thought happily whilst hugging her family, _I’m home._  
  
  
  


* * *

  
“First round’s on the house,” Madam Rosmerta chuckled and winked, putting twelve large butterbeers throughout the tables with a wide smile. “Enjoy yourselves. Happy birthday, Golden Girl.”

  
Hermione nodded shyly, somewhat embarrassed, and reached for the glass closest to her. Deep down, the nickname made her feel quite uneasy. The room was getting hot all of a sudden. “I— er, thanks, Madam Rosmerta.”  
  
  
They all grabbed a cup, lifting them high.  
  
  
Ginny rose from her seat opposite to Hermione’s, smiling at her best friend. “To Hermione Granger, our beloved bookworm and dear friend!”  
  
  
“Hear, hear!”  
  
  
They toasted and downed their drinks in one go.  
  
  
The redhead sat down again, whispered something into Harry’s ear, nodded at her family and placed the small bag on the table. “We wanted to give you something important, something that would remind you of us. We hope you like it.”  
  
A pang of guilt broke her heart in two.  
  
  
Under Harry’s watchful eye, Hermione grabbed the bag and pulled out a small boxed wrapped in red and yellow gift paper. Nervously, she ripped the wrapping apart and opened the box. A small, golden ball appeared right in front of Hermione’s incredulous eyes. “I open at the close...” Hermione read quietly, caressing the inscription thoughtfully. _I feel like I’ve already seen this Snitch somewhere— wait a moment..._ “Harry, is this—?”  
  
  
“Yeah,” answered Harry, smiling goofily. “That’s the first Snitch I ever caught, the one that held the Resurrection Stone inside. I— er, well... you were there when I caught it. In the grandstands, cheering for me. You’ve always been there for me, Hermione. For all of us. I— sure, I know that you don’t like Quidditch _that_ much, but many of my happiest memories with you all involve it and—”  
  
  
Hermione bit her lower lip, placing the Snitch back inside the box. “I love it. Thank you so much, Harry... this means a lot to me, really.”  
  
  
The boy blushed and scratched the back of his head. “Yeah? Well— that’s great! I’m glad you like it!”  
  
  
Sirius cleared his throat loudly, drawing everyone’s attention. “And this is from us; Moony, Minnie, Hagrid, Neville, Luna and yours truly!” he said, pulling a green bag from beneath the table. The guilt doubled in size, overwhelming and all-consuming. “We honestly didn’t know what to get you— I had to swallow my pride and ask for help. Me! Can you believe it?” Sirius bemoaned dramatically, pushing the gift froward with a smirk. “Hope you like it, ‘Mione.”  
  
  
Grabbing the wrapped package inside the bag, Hermione gulped hard. “I— thank you, Sirius. You shouldn’t have bothered... none of you shou—”

  
“Shut up, will you?” Sirius laughed, quoting her. “We _wanted_ to give you something for your birthday, ‘Mione. C’mon, open it!”

  
And that she did.

  
Raising her eyebrows, Hermione examined the old-looking book in her hands. “The Forgotten Tales of Burgundy...” Funnily enough, she didn’t recognise the title. Opening the book, she found a note inside. It looked recent.

 _  
Keira Burgundy (née Selwyn) was a British pure-blood witch born in mid-1950. She got sorted into Slytherin in 1961, fell in love with a Ravenclaw classmate (a muggle-born called Thomas Burgundy, with whom she never married) and spied on the Death Eaters until You-Know-Who’s first fall from power. She committed suicide two years later, unable to cope with the pain and trauma that her life as a double agent had brought forth. Burgundy wrote down all of her anecdotes, suspicions, schemes, paranoias and thoughts in this diary and named it “The Forgotten Tales of Burgundy” because nobody paid much attention to such ‘unimportant’ information. Everyone was too busy with the First Wizarding War, the following clean-up and whatnot. Bloody idiots, the lot of them. Wouldn’t know brilliance and talent even if they hit them in the face in the shape of a rogue Bludger.  
  
_ _Thought you’d like it._

_Happy birthday._

  
“I— a very interesting choice, yes...” Hermione chuckled dryly, caressing the worn-out cover. Her fingertips tingled, shivers running down her spine, and her heart writhed in sympathy for the deceased woman. “Where did you get it?”

  
Sirius shrugged one shoulder. “I have my ways.”  
  
  
With a frown, Hermione read the note again whilst the Weasley twins ordered more butterbeers— the elegant scrawl was vaguely familiar to her, but she couldn’t quite recognise it. After a few minutes, she put the note back inside the book and flipped through its yellowish pages, reading a few entries absentmindedly here and there.  
  
  
When the refills arrived, Hermione put the journal and the Snitch inside her beaded handbag and joined the celebration.   
  
  
One round led to another, butterbeer got quickly replaced by stronger alcoholic drinks —namely firewhiskey and sherry—, jokes were cracked and laughed... Even when Luna rambled about Nargles, Wrackspurts, Moon Frogs and Heliopaths; everyone listened closely and had a great time— interestingly enough, Neville smiled widely whenever the blonde witch spoke up. He also talked about his latest Herbology projects with a burning passion, self-assurance evident in his voice. Remus and Harry talked about their Auror jobs, sharing funny anecdotes from time to time. Ginny raved about Quidditch and the Holyhead Harpies, cussing the other teams more often than not. The professors spoke about their students, telling funny tales and making wagers on occasion.   
  
  
The atmosphere was warm and lighthearted.

  
But Hermione felt awfully cold inside. 

_  
Why are you like this? Why can’t you just enjoy yourself for once?_ _You’re being awfully inconsiderate!_ Hermione thought bitterly, keeping her hands under the table. They were shaking viciously again; cold and sweaty. _Everyone is having fun, you’re gonna ruin the night!_ _  
_

  
“—and then Ron ate two Canary Creams—”

  
“—and spent Christmas dinner as a huge, grumpy canary!”

  
Minerva shook her head wistfully whilst everyone roared with laughter. “If only you’d put that much effort into your education.”  
  
  
“That’s what I’ve been telling them for bloody ages, Minerva!” Mrs. Weasley sighed dramatically and took another healthy swing of her firewhiskey. “Though... I must admit... that prank of yours was quite funny. Don’t tell Ronnie I said that.”   
  
  
Once again, everyone laughed— except for Hermione.  
  
  
Her ears were ringing, muffling the ongoing conversations entirely, and her heart was thundering at speeds unknown— guilt and shame bubbled unpleasantly in her chest, setting her lungs aflame and making her feel sick to her stomach. Her breathing was shallow and quick, desperate.   
  
  
“I don’t know about you all,” said Ginny all of a sudden, getting up from her chair and stretching almost exaggeratedly. “But I _really_ need some cool air. The room’s getting far too warm for my liking. Harry, Hermione; come with me?”

  
Both friends staggered to their feet, following the redhead outside without uttering a word. Right before exiting the inn, Hermione heard Sirius say —or rather, exclaim at the top of his lungs— a bit drunkenly, “Oi, Hagrid! Fancy a drinking competition?”  
  
  
Inevitably, Hermione rolled her eyes and sighed. _Knew it..._

  
The three of them wandered around Hogsmeade, enjoying the peaceful silence that reigned over the village. At some point, they ended up in front of the Shrieking Shack— _ah, this building brings back so many memories... still not sure how to feel about it, honestly._

  
“Alright,” whispered Ginny, looking around in all directions cautiously. “What was that about, Hermione?” Her voice left no room for discussion and her bright brown eyes were hard and worried. 

  
Hermione frowned. “I— what?”

  
Harry patted her tense shoulder, offering her a small smile. “You were hyperventilating back there, ‘Mione. Is everything alright? Did we— I dunno, offend you somehow?” 

  
Bewildered, Hermione gawked at her best friends. _Close your mouth, Hermione, and stop staring._ “Wha— no! Of course not, don’t be silly. I just— I may have drunk a bit too much. It’s been a long time since I last had a drink, my tolerance is not what it used to be.”  
  
  
Ginny shook her head. “You’ve only had two butterbeers, that _hardly_ counts as drinking... Not that you’ve ever drunk your much, anyway.” She sighed and crossed her arms over her chest. “There’s something bothering you, ‘Mione, and we can tell— well, the others might be a bit too drunk to notice _anything_ at all right now...” The snide comment made Harry chortle softly. “But we do. We know there’s something wrong— and we’re worried about you, Hermione.” 

  
“There’s nothing to be worried about!” retorted Hermione nervously, growing fidgety by the second. “Everything’s fine, really. I’m just— awfully tired, is all. I didn’t get much sleep last night and I’m still not used to life as a professor so things are very hectic at the moment. Seriously, there’s nothing to be worried about!” 

  
Sighing deeply, Ginny pulled her into a tight hug.  
  
  
Hermione melted into her warmth embarrassingly fast.  
  
  
“You lovable, selfless idiot...” Ginny whispered, sounding painfully sad. “You’re an awful liar, Hermione. Always have been.”

  
The brunette glanced at Harry, who was staring at her grimly. “You’re always trying to deal with _everything_ on your own, Hermione. Let us help you, please...”   
  
  
Hermione shook her head, at a loss of words.  
  
  
Ginny hugged her tighter whilst Harry exhaled wearily. “You do know that we’ve all fought the same war, right? We may have not fought the exact same battles—” he nodded at her left arm curtly, where the horrid _‘Mudblood’_ scar was hidden from view by her sleeve and a Glamour Charm. “But we’ve been fighting the same enemies for many, many years. We can recognise the signs of... the signs of...”   
  
  
“The signs of someone who’s struggling with the aftermath,” Ginny finished for him, taking a step back from Hermione. Her usually mischievous eyes were filled with tears, which made Hermione sick to her stomach with guilt. “Is that why you disappeared without prior warning, Hermione? Because you needed time to deal with... the aftermath?” 

  
Ignoring the bile crawling its way up her throat, Hermione exhaled shakily. “Yes,” she answered softly, almost hesitantly. The admission lifted a weight off her shoulders, breaking the delicate dam that had been for four years now. “I— well, I thought I could deal with this on my own. Detach myself from the wizarding world and eventually get better, you know?”  
  
  
“But it didn’t work.”

  
“It only made things worse,” she said with a grimace, giving them a bitter laugh. “So much worse.”

  
This time, Harry pulled her into a tight hug.  
  
  
Another sob danced off her dry lips.  
  
  
“Why didn’t you tell us, Hermione? We could have been there for you... we _would have_ been there for you.”

  
“B-Because you were so happy,” admitted Hermione, voice growing strained. _And I felt so unimportant, so left out._ “Everyone talked about you, praised you, looked up to you... your name was finally _clean_ , Harry. There were no more Dark Lords around trying to murder you for the sake of a mad delusion, for the sake of one bloody prophecy. You were a hero. The Chosen One. The Boy Who Lived. You’d saved England from a seemingly invincible threat. No, not just England; the entire world! You were so happy... and I didn’t want to ruin that happiness...”

  
Harry sighed, shaking his head. “It was nice at first, not gonna lie. The attention, the praise, the recognition. But it got too annoying too fast. I couldn’t go anywhere! People stopped and stared, whispering to each other. Some even took pictures of me without my permission. I was like a— I dunno... I felt like an exotic animal at the local zoo, you know?” he explained bitterly, a frown creasing his features. “And many others tried to make small talk at all times, even when I clearly wasn’t in the mood. Sure, it was nice for a while, but it got really overwhelming real quick. As impossible as it may sound, I just wanted my peaceful, quiet life back. The one where nobody knew my name, where I was just another normal kid. There were days I didn’t want to get out of bed, knowing what was waiting for me outside the Burrow’s safety. There still are.”

  
“Oh, Harry... I am so so—”

  
“No apologies, remember?” Ginny said, whacking her back weakly before joining the hug. “I told you, ‘Mione. It’s okay. We understand! These things aren’t easy on anyone. You don’t have to hide away, not from us. Never from us.”

  
Hermione nodded, letting her tears fall.

  
Warmth.

  
So much warmth.

  
“Don’t push us away again, okay?” Ginny asked softly, voice cracking audibly. “Or else I’ll send you a Howler again. And believe me, it won’t be as nice as the last one.”

  
“I-I will try.”

  
“Good gi—” a pained mewl interrupted Ginny.

  
Intrigued, the three of them pulled away and found a small grey cat limping towards them. It had heterochromia —its left eye was bright yellow whereas the right one was emerald green— and it had black stripes across its fur. In a sense, it reminded her of Crookshanks. _Maybe it’s part-Kneazle as well? It definitely looks like a small lion... kind of._

  
Hermione rushed forward, her protective instincts kicking in hard; and carefully kneeled in front of the cat. “Hello, little one,” she whispered, her voice raspy and strained from the prior conversation. “What’s wrong? Did you get hurt? Where’s your family?” Upon closer inspection, Hermione found various wounds coating its skin and tainting its fur carmine. Her stomach churned unpleasantly.

  
Saddened, Hermione drew her wand and aimed at the cat with a pained smile. “ _Epis_ —”

  
Seeing the wand, the little cat hissed harshly, baring its fangs to her— and crying out in pain. Hermione lowered it right away, putting it back inside her pocket. The kitten relaxed visibly. _Did a wizard or a witch hurt it? The poor thing is so small… Probably a few months old._

  
Making up her mind, Hermione faced her friends. “I am going to—”

  
“Take it to Hogwarts, treat its wounds, give it some food, provide it with a warm place to spend the night and make sure it recovers properly? Yeah, we know,” Harry and Ginny stated in unison, flashing twin smiles. “Your heart is humongous, Hermione. You cannot stand seeing any living creature in pain. Remember _S.P.E.W.?_ ”

  
Giving her shoulder one last reassuring squeeze, Ginny smiled. “I’m gonna give everyone a heads-up, you two can take the cat to the castle in the meantime,” she said softly, then made a face. “I hope they haven’t gotten absolutely wasted in our absence. That wouldn’t be nice. And it’d be mildly inconvenient; I am not going to Apparate with anyone in that condition. And Floo Network is an absolute pain in the arse when drunk. I still haven’t forgotten about— dear Merlin, that was a bloody mess.” Feigning a full-body shudder, Ginny gave Hermione a meaningful look and winked. “We’ll stay in touch, okay? And don’t worry, your secrets are safe with us.”

  
And with that being said, Ginny walked away into the night.

  
Not without making a peace sign first.

  
With a lovestruck smile, Harry watched her go. Some seconds later, he glanced at Hermione and the wounded kitten with a knowing smirk.

  
“You’re totally going to keep it, aren’t you?”

  
Hermione blushed profusely. “I— er, well... there’s certainly enough room for a cat in my quarters,” she said awkwardly, eyeing the Shrieking Shack with newfound interest. _A_ _nd I could definitely use some company at Hogwarts again..._

  
Harry laughed, rolling his eyes good-naturedly. “How are you going to call it?”

  
Making a face, Hermione lifted it carefully —after sniffling her various times, the kitten had let itself to be picked up— and snorted.

  
“Crookshanks Jnr.”


	6. VI: The purest blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG LADS, IT'S HAPPENING! OUR PROTAGONISTS ARE TALKING, THEY'RE BONDING!

Unsurprisingly, Sirius had gotten absolutely hammered. Totally and utterly shitfaced.  
  
  
Hagrid —and _Minerva McGonagall,_ much to Hermione’s blatant amusement and surprise— had drunk him under the table without much of a problem. The poor Defense Against the Dark Arts professor had gotten a nasty hangover in return, aggravated by hundreds of cheerful students. _Serves him right, honestly. Who in their right mind would challenge Hagrid to a drinking competition!?_  
  
  
“That’s what he gets for getting drunk on working days,” Hermione chuckled smugly, fighting a losing battle against her rebellious hair. Crookshanks Junior watched her intently, pawing some of her curls playfully and meowing happily.  
  
  
According to Madam Pomfrey, the kitten was a part-Kneazle —quarter, if memory served her right— and no older than a year.  
  
  
After a week of constant rest and loving rest, Crookshanks Jr. had recovered completely from his wounds— and, shockingly enough, had taken to following Hermione around the castle. He even joined some of her classes from time to time, always analysing the poor students. Just like his namesake, the part-Kneazle had made friends with Sirius right away, who could understand Crookshanks Jr. due to him being an Animagus. Both professors were happy to have him around, for he filled a painful void in their hearts.   
  
  
“Come on, Crooks,” crooned Hermione, grabbing her beaded handbag with a small smile. “We have a class to give, we cannot be late.”  
  
  
Thus, early on Friday morning, they strode into the Transfiguration classroom —still number 1B on the ground floor— together. The students turned around right away, eyeing the part-Keazle with unconcealed curiosity. In the meantime, Crookshanks Junior dashed towards the professor’s desk and jumped on top of it, staring intently at the teenagers.  
  
  
 _Definitely studying them like the part-Kneazle he is...  
  
  
_ “Good morning, everyone!” greeted Hermione with a wide smile, amused by her cat’s antics. “Hope you don’t mind the extra company. Now... today, as promised, we’ll be working with Human Transfiguration.” And with a flick of her wand, she produced thirty-six medium-sized mirrors out of thin air. “Does anyone know the incantation of the spell that’s used to transform the colour and style of the caster’s hair?”  
  
  
Evan Falwey’s hand was up in the air almost immediately.  
  
  
“Yes, Mr. Fawley?” Hermione said, fighting back a giggle.  
  
  
“ _Crinus_ _Muto_ , Professor Granger,” he answered excitedly, though he didn’t pronounce the incantation properly.

  
Nodding, Hermione raised her vine wand with a small smile. “Yes— but you’re getting the pronunciation wrong. It’s _CREE-nus MYOO-toh_ , not _Cre-EN-us MU-toh._ ” And with that being said, her hair straightened and became thinner. Long gone were her chestnut curls, now replaced by a beautiful red mane similar to Ginny Weasley’s.   
  
  
At the front of the class, Black raised an eyebrow.  
  
  
 _Wonder what’s going on inside her head...  
  
  
_ “Pick a partner if you must,” said Hermione, undoing the spell with another flick of her wand. “But I want you to transfigure your hairstyle, both shape and colour, into somebody else’s by the end of the class—” she paused, hummed thoughtfully and cracked a sheepish smile. “Someone I may know, preferably. Get to it!”  
  
  
Crookshanks Jr. leapt forward, sauntering over the classroom. Whilst the students practised the spell —and got it _awfully_ wrong nine times out of ten—, laughing at each other whenever someone failed spectacularly; the part-Kneazle observed them very closely. From time to time, he pawed at wavy or shiny blonde hair, which made Hermione giggle fondly.  
  
  
Near the end of the class, a husky and annoyed voice called her name.

  
“Professor Granger,” drawled Black loudly. “Would you mind taking your cat away from me?”

  
Turning around from Avery and Riggs’ shared desk, Hermione spotted Crookshanks Junior pawing Black’s long curls— which were a tad lighter in colour and _way_ less chaotic now. For whatever reason, Hermione found herself missing the unruly black mess of curls she’d grown used to over the past few weeks.

  
Walking towards her desk somewhat shakily, Hermione chuckled and crossed her arms. “Allergic to cats, Miss Black?”

  
And for a very brief second, Hermione saw Andromeda Black in front of her. _Bloody hell, they look exactly the same! How is this possi—_

  
With a deadpan expression, Black stared at her intently.   
  
  
Silver eyes shimmered with a scorching intensity that made Hermione’s hair stand on edge; that took her breath away. Her heart pounded loudly, though not loudly enough to muffle the students’ cheerful conversations and endless attempts at charming their hair. Something about the younger witch made her downright nervous. 

  
When no unpleasant flashback came forth, Hermione exhaled in relief. “Crooks, c’mere,” she said softly, spreading her arms wide and catching Crookshanks Jr. with a delighted chuckle. The part-Knealzed purred contentedly and climbed on top of her shoulders. Noticing that Black’s eyes were still on her, Hermione cleared her throat and examined her spellwork with a small smile. “You’ve done great, Miss Black. This is Andromeda’s hair, I suppose?”

  
Nodding, Black raised her wand and glanced at the mirror. “Why yes, but this is not the final product. _Crinus Muto._ ”

  
Her hair changed again.  
  
  
Brown curls straightened, turning lighter and lighter and lighter until they were platinum blonde. Her now straight hair shone under the candlesticks’ light and the rays of sun seeping through the windows, almost reflecting said light. _Narcissa’s_ _hair_ , Hermione thought whilst Crookshanks Junior purred in delight near her right ear. _Alright, you really love curls and blonde hair, noted._

  
During her distraction, Black raised an eyebrow —so pale it almost blended with her fair skin— and examined her reflection critically.   
  
  
Hermione could now see the resemblance between the three sisters, hidden at plain sight. Their features were almost identical, but their hair and eyes were _completely_ different— even the emotions that swirled within their eyes were different most of the time. Hermione frowned, watching the Slytherin analyse her reflection in complete silence. There was something about the girl... something she couldn’t quite pinpoint...  
  
  
And, after a few seconds, she realised that seeing Black without her characteristic black mane of curls and dark eyebrows felt... rather disturbing, to say the least.  
  
  
 _Wrong, it feels wrong._

  
“Did I get it right, professor?”

  
Unable to hide her surprise, Hermione snorted. “One would think you’d know what your sister’s hair looks like, Miss Black.”  
  
  
“So... That’s a yes?” she asked, flashing the infamous Slytherin smirk _—more like ‘the pure-blood smirk’ or something of the like, Sirius has it too and he was sorted in Gryffindor—_ whilst she slowly ran a hand through her smooth hair.   
  
  
Gradually, her platinum blonde hair became black as coal and unruly once again.  
  
  
“Perhaps. Twenty points to Slytherin for such a good demonstration,” Hermione laughed warmly.

  
Black nodded, still smirking. 

  
By the end of the class, only Black and a Hufflepuff girl named Helena Arnold got the practice done. Miss Arnold had transformed her hair into Hagrid’s, making the entire class roar with laughter. 

  
“Those of you who haven’t gotten it right, please don’t be discouraged!” Hermione reassured, remembering her sixth year’s Transfiguration classes. They’d been quite intense and nerve-wracking, even for her. “We’ll keep practising on Monday afternoon. Class dismissed, enjoy the rest of your day!”

  
The students left — _Hufflepuff has Charms and Slytherin has Defense Against the Dark Arts_ , her brain chimed in— and Hermione sighed happily. The small interaction with Black had given her hope. Sure, she still got _extremely_ nervous around the girl and her sisters, but her reactions weren’t blown-out or anything anymore. Her more than frequent chats with Sirius had definitely helped her a lot in that matter.

  
Dispelling the mirrors, Hermione frowned. “Crooks? Where are you?”

  
The part-Kneazle was nowhere to be seen, which made her feel uneasy. Her cat was an adventurer, always going from one place to another without prior warning, but losing sight of him never ceased to make her nervous. What if someone used him as target practice? What if he tripped and fell down the grand stairs? He was young and small, after all... shaking her head, Hermione leaned against her desk and started making some annotations about her students’ progress.

  
After fifteen minutes or so, a Grim-like _Patronus_ entered the classroom through a wall, scaring the living daylights out of her. Soon enough, Sirius’ _Patronus_ started talking.

 _  
“Oi, ‘Mione, as much as I love Crookshanks Junior, I cannot have him around in my class today. We’re gonna do some mock battles and practice non-verbal magic, so please come pick—”_ a loud wheeze danced off the _Patronus_ ’ unmoving mouth. _“Come here right now, please— dear Merlin, you_ ** _have_ **_to see this! Nobody move! This_ **_has_ ** _to be the best day of my life—”_

  
Groaning, Hermione rushed to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. _Why did he go there? He’s wary of magic, especially offensive spells. Darn it, Crooks!_

  
Breathless, Hermione arrived at the classroom in record time. Upon entering the Slytherin-Gryffindor class, the Transfiguration professor spotted her cat on top of Bellatrix Black’s tense shoulders —a _h, shit...—_ and pawing her curls whilst purring happily— _w_ _ell, goodbye progress._

  
“Miss Black, I’m so sorry!”

  
Turning around slowly, Black made a face. Everyone was giggling, including Sirius, who had a shit-eating grin on his face. “I think your cat likes me.” A deadpan, an annoyed glare at the part-Kneazle. “It followed me around. Didn’t even notice until it jumped on me all of a sudden.”

  
Hermione laughed, reaching out for the part-Kneazle. “Again, I’m so sorry. I should have kept an eye on him.”

  
Now free from Crookshanks Junior, Black shrugged and walked towards the centre of the class. Sirius, who was still smirking, waved at Hermione. 

  
“Why don’t you stay, ‘Mione?” He asked loudly, eyes alit with mischief. The Gryffindors turned around, looking at the Head of their House with pleading and excited expressions. _They look like puppies..._ “If you don’t have anything else to do, that is. I’m sure that your students would _love_ to show you just how good they are at Defense Against the Dark Arts.”

  
They all nodded, including a couple of Slytherins.

  
“I— alright, alright…”

  
“Yes! Thank you so much, Professor Granger!”

  
Chuckling softly, Hermione made her way to the professor’s desk whilst Crookshanks Jr. purred because of her distracted caresses.  
  
  
Truth be told, part of her was downright intrigued. Sure, she’d seen Sirius duelling a couple of times —at the Department of Mysteries and the Battle of Hogwarts, but Hermione didn’t want to think about those events right now or anytime soon— and rising victorious, but she had never seen him... well, give a class to a bunch of teenagers eager to prove themselves.

  
“Alright!” Sirius exclaimed, effectively silencing the ecstatic students. “As promised, we’re going to be practising non-verbal magic for the next few weeks. Your classmate—” he pointed at a bored-looking Black, “and I will engage in a mock battle now. Watch and learn, everyone!”

**_  
“My dear, stay. Watch and learn.”_ **

  
Hermione frowned, shaking the memories away. _Hogwarts, Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, nearly 11:30 in the morning, September 27th, 2002..._ A bit more relaxed, Hermione sighed softly. _God bless Harry and his advice._

  
“C’mon, Trixie,” said Sirius mockingly, already in fighting position. “Show me what you’ve got.”

  
Black scoffed, unsheathing her wand. “Circe’s tits... do _not_ call me that!”

  
The student’s stance changed rapidly, going from relaxed to offensive in the blink of an eye. A red light emanated from her crooked wand, flying towards Sirius at an outstanding speed and bouncing off his hastily casted _Protego._ Sirius took a few steps back, clearly enjoying the challenge.

_  
That was a Stupefy... a really powerful one..._

**_  
“Stupefy,” Cygnus screamed, “Stupefy!”_ **

  
Clenching her jaw and hands tight, Hermione eyed the door desperately. Crookshanks Junior purred, nuzzling the pulse point on her neck soothingly. _I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t have said yes. I should have left while I could. I should have—_

**_  
“The first step to recovery,” said Harry, offering her a wide smile, “is facing your demons. Don’t let them win, ‘Mione. You’re so much stronger than them.”_ **

  
Hermione inhaled deeply and held her breath. _No, I’m stronger than this. I can do this!  
  
  
_ With renewed confidence, Hermione exhaled and focused on the ongoing duel between the Black cousins. Much to her surprise, the girl’s technique was...  
  
  
Absolutely _nothing_ like Cygnus’ one. 

  
The Slytherin witch carried herself with elegance and rhythm, as though she was dancing to some unheard melody. Her movements were sharp, calculated and pronounced. Mesmerising, but downright deadly. Cygnus, on the other hand, had been ruthless and vicious. Always aiming to kill. He had never gloated or taunted. He had never _played with his food_ in the way Bellatrix Black seemed to do. They were two sides of the same coin.

  
Hermione was enthralled.

  
Unfortunately, Black quickly found a breach in Sirius’ defences and struck him square in the chest with a mild _Flipendo_ , promptly ending the duel. 

  
“Merlin, what a humiliation,” Sirius laughed warmly, getting up from the floor and dusting off his brown suit. “Darn, how am I going to face my students from now on?”

  
Black rolled her eyes, refraining from comment.

  
“Hope you took notes,” he said, facing the wide-eyed students. “Because I’m going to pair you up! Nineteen pairs, five minutes per duel. Ten points for whoever wins the duel— if and when they use non-verbal magic. I don’t want to hear any words,” he paused, scratching his moustache in thought. “Okay, you _can_ taunt and insult each other. But that’s about that.”

  
With a flick of his wand, Sirius produced a hat which contained a multitude of small papers. “Alright, come here and pick _one_ paper. If you get your name, put it back and choose another.”

_  
How very muggle of you, Sirius._

  
After a couple of minutes, everyone had a paper in hand. Some looked confident, others indifferent and a few—

 _  
“Ah, shit!”_ Vincent Vane, a blond Gryffindor who played Keeper for his Quidditch team, hissed upon unfolding his paper. Shaking like a leaf, he showed it to his friends. “ _I got Bellatrix Black! Kill me now...”  
  
  
_ Black’s head snapped up. _  
  
_  
The small group of Gryffindors snickered, drawing everyone’s attention for a moment. Ashamed, they all apologised and patted their friend in the back.  
  
  
 _“Mate, you’re as dead as a doornail,”_ whispered Evan McLaggen —Cormac’s younger brother— with an amused smile. _“Black’s gonna eat you alive in five seconds— perhaps even less! No worries, though; we’ll give you a proper funeral.”_  
  
  
Hermione frowned, confused. _What’s this all about?_

  
Another boy chimed in, wiggling his eyebrows mockingly. _“Wanna bet? Five galleons say that Black’s gonna knock you flat on your arse with a **Stupefy** as soon as the duel starts.”_

 _  
“Bah, too easy!”_ mumbled the third friend. _“And totally not Black’s style. Nah... ten galleons say that she’s gonna toy with you until she gets bored— or Professor Black ends the duel, whatever happens first.”_

  
 _“Oh, you guys are the absolute worst!”_ a blonde girl —Vane’s twin, Emma— hissed indignantly. _“Don’t listen to them, okay? You’ll do just fine, Vince. I believe in you! Besides, Professor Black won’t let her hurt you.”_

  
Evan McLaggen rolled his eyes, running a hand through his hair. _“Please... Vincent doesn’t stand a bloody chance. Many people call Black ‘The Best Duellist of Her Age’ for a reason, y’know?”_ he whispered with a shit-eating grin. “Tell you what...” He said loudly all of a sudden, catching everyone's attention once again. “I’m gonna humour you for a bit... fifty galleons say that Vincent is gonna win the duel.”

  
The group fell silent.

  
“F-Fifty!” Vincent Vane squeaked. “Have you lost your damn mind?”

  
Waving a dismissive hand, McLaggen smirked. “My family is filthy rich, what are fifty galleons anyway? You’ll do just fine, Vince, I believe in you!” That earned him a not-so-playful smack from Emma.

 _  
Just as pompous and shallow as his older brother,_ Hermione thought with disdain, momentarily forgetting about her code of honour as a professor. Crookshanks hissed at him. _Poor Vincent, he’s not looking all that well…_

  
The duels came and went relatively fast; most of them ended with a verbal incantation, much to nobody’s surprise. Truth be told, some duels were way more fascinating and intense than others— Hermione’s personal favourite was Oliver Avery versus Evan McLaggen. That one had ended on a hilarious note; the Slytherin wizard had struck the overconfident Gryffindor with a wordless Bag-Bogey Hex. Judging by the students’ collective roar of laughter, everyone enjoyed that outcome as well. 

  
When Vane and Black met in the centre of the classroom, Hermione nodded reassuringly at the trembling boy.  
  
  
Black huffed softly.

  
“Begin!” Sirius said, then returned back to Hermione’s side. “I feel bad for the guy,” he whispered into her ear. “Trixie doesn’t go easy on anyone— unless your name is Narcissa or Andromeda, that is.”

**_  
“I’ll go easy on you.”_ **

**_  
“Thanks, Ronald.”_ **

  
Hermione shrugged, focusing on the duel with a blank expression. That memory still drove her up the wall. “I’m sure he’ll do fine. The worst-case scenario would be— don’t know, if he got defeated in an extremely humiliating way.”

  
Sirius snorted, smirking at her. “Are you insinuating something, Granger?”

  
Smiling wryly, Hermione nudged his side. 

  
“Is this all you’ve got?” Black taunted in a childish voice, drawing Hermione’s attention back to the duel— if one could call _that_ a duel. Black was dancing between his spells with shocking ease, staring at Vane with a shark-like grin. “Can’t itty bitty baby Vane do better than this? Can’t the brave Gryffindor knock the big bad Slytherin down?”

  
Hermione frowned, but Sirius didn’t seem bothered by Black’s words in the slightest.

  
Vane cried out, sending a wordless _Confundo_ her way. Dashing to the right, Black dodged the spell effortlessly. The boy repeated the action, again and again, unable to land a hit on her.

  
“How pathetic,” sighed Black, shaking her head in mock disappointment; before hitting Vane square in the chest with a wordless _Flipendo_. The Slytherin students chuckled, pointing fingers at him whilst the Gryffindor sent him pitying looks— and shot Black nasty glares. 

  
If looks could kill…

  
Ready to end the duel, Sirius opened his mouth— and snapped it shut when Vane got to his knees, breathless and panting hard. The Gryffindors cheered, clapping loudly and reassuringly, whereas the Slytherins giggled again. Black raised an eyebrow, looking impossibly unimpressed.

  
The words ‘irate’ and ‘humiliated’ were written in bold letters all over Vane’s flushed face, which was redder than a Weasley. There were tears in his green eyes. Flaring his nostrils and puffing out his chest, he waved his wand around aimlessly.

  
If there was a pattern, Hermione couldn’t recognise it.

  
“He knows how to play!” Black mocked, spreading her arms wide. “Make sure to aim well for once and—”

  
A bright light emanated from Vane’s wand all of a sudden, flying towards Black at an astonishing speed that caught _everyone_ by surprise.

  
Failing to cast a _Protego_ on time, Black blinked slowly. 

  
The two windows behind her cracked, shattering into a gazillion pieces upon hitting the floor. 

  
Silence fell upon the room, downright nauseating and nerve-wracking; until the Slytherin witch took one step back rather shakily. When mortified screams resounded through the classroom, Black pressed her left hand against her side. The smirk fell off her face.

  
Hermione saw red.

  
Not from anger, but _blood_.

  
Frozen in place, Hermione desperately looked at Sirius— who was staring at his cousin, wide-eyed and mouth agape. All colour had drained from his face. The usually mischievous man looked terrified out of his mind.

  
The students stormed out of the classroom, still screaming and crying out in horror. Calling Madam Pomfrey’s name at the top of their lungs.

  
Kicking herself into action, Hermione rushed to Black’s side. _That **must** have been a Sectumsempra… _ Hermione’s hands were shaking, sweaty and cold. Memories of George losing an ear because of that spell swam back into her mind, overwhelming and all-consuming. The scent of rusted iron invaded her nostrils, nearly making her heave. _But how? Did Sirius teach them that spell? Impossible, he’d never teach them something so vile, so cruel, so inhumane, so—_

  
“Miss Bla— Bellatrix, can you hear me?” 

  
Much to Hermione’s surprise, Bellatrix simply cackled— then collapsed hard onto the floor. Blood oozed from her many wounds, staining the wooden floor and creating an ever-growing pool around her slowly but surely.

  
“SIRIUS, SNAP OUT OF IT AND HELP ME!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, that escalated quickly.
> 
> Bellatrix, when will you stop being so cocky? smfh...
> 
> My friend=> Me, yelling right at his face: YOU SHOULD BE HELPING HER YOU WORTHLESS DOG, NOT JUST STANDING THERE LIKE YOUD BE IN A BLOODY ZOO!!!
> 
> Me=> I mean, his reaction is kinda understandable, he was most likely having flashbacks from Vietnam aka Snape using that curse on the Marauders (and he does get along with his cousin in this one, so that adds to the shock). He'll have some redemption in the next chapter.
> 
> My friend=> You gonna give him the Hapsburg jawline?
> 
> Me, choking on my drink=> UDNSOSNDJDNDJ


	7. VII: The Noble House of Black.

“WHERE DID YOU LEARN THAT CURSE? _WHERE?_ ”  
  
  
Sirius’ distraught voice thundered throughout the Headmistress’ office, startling all of the moving portraits awake and frightening an already terrified Vincent Vane even further. The man paced around the room, eyes darting around dangerously. He looked... insane. Just like when he’d tried to murder Peter Pettigrew at the Shrieking Shack all those years ago.  
  
  
“Sirius...” Minerva and Slughorn warned simultaneously.  
  
  
But he ignored them. As his breathing grew heavier and heavier, he took two steps toward the sobbing boy. Fortunately for Vane, Hermione grabbed his arm —desperately trying to ignore the eerie resemblance between Sirius and Cygnus Black, to silence the sickening memories once and for all— and shook her head.   
  
  
“Sirius,” said Hermine softly. “You should calm down. Let him explain—”

  
“EXPLAIN WHAT?” Sirius exclaimed incredulously, trying to free himself from her unyielding grasp. Hermione flinched hard, afraid, but kept an impassive face regardless. “You heard Poppy, didn’t you? He could’ve killed her, Hermione! My cousin— he could’ve— dammit all!”  
  
  
Vane whimpered loudly, shaking his head. “I-I didn’t mean to, I promise! I didn’t know—” his deep voice cracked as breathless sobs danced off his lips. “I didn’t know what the spell would do... it didn’t say—”  
  
  
“You didn’t know,” repeated Sirius in an eerily quiet voice, chuckling in utter disbelief. “WHAT KIND OF BRAINLESS FOOL USES A SPELL THEY DONT KNOW A SINGLE THING ABOUT?”  
  
  
Hermione grimaced, stepping between Vane and Sirius. “Your godson,” she answered calmly. “He didn’t know either. And yet he used it... he heavily wounded Draco Malfoy in a bathroom back in sixth year, remember? He found the curse in Snape’s copy of _Advanced Potion-Making_ and—”  
  
  
“That’s where I-I found it,” stammered Vane. “That’s where I found the spell... and many others. I promise! Here, I brought the book...”  
  
  
Under everyone’s watchful eyes, the Gryffindor boy rummaged through his satchel and pulled out a very worn-out book. The edges were burnt and the binding was downright tattered, but the unmistakable cover remained untouched... for the most part.  
  
  
“It cannot be...” Hermione whispered, transfixed. She grabbed the book carefully, almost hesitantly, and flipped it open with shaky hands. As expected, Snape’s many annotations were scattered along the yellowish pages. And along the bottom of the back cover lay, lightly scorched yet still legible, Snape’s signature. _‘This Book is the Property of the Half-Blood Prince’._

  
Sirius stared at the potions book in absolute silence, disgust written all over his pale face.  
  
  
Hermione swallowed hard and passed the book around. “How is this even possible? This book shouldn’t be here,” she explained, remembering inextinguishable flames and thick smoke. “This book should’ve been destroyed when Crabbe released _Fiendfyre_ in the Room of Requirement during the Battle of Hogwarts!”  
  
  
Minerva exhaled deeply, a sigh only a lifetime of teaching and giving detentions _—and seeing your students die young, surviving both Wizarding Wars and dealing with the devastating aftermaths—_ could possibly create, and shook her head. “Looks like it survived somehow,” she whispered thoughtfully, turning around to face Vane. “Care to explain how you found it, Mr. Vane?”

  
“Well,” he started, shifting nervously in his seat. “My parents aren’t very— mom’s a muggle-born and dad’s a half-blood. They run a little shop in Diagon Alley, but they’re not that well-off! They sell relics and stuff of the sort. They... they went bankrupt because of the war— the sales are still so low...” He paused and grimaced, cracking his fingers to relieve some tension. “When Emma and I learned about the skirmish at the Room of Requirement, we— er... we looked for salvageable objects in there. Whatever remained intact could be considered a relic, you see. We wanted to help mom and dad somehow... so we started scavenging during our downtime. The front of the room was completely destroyed, but there was stuff at the back that could still be sold! We found that book last year... we’ve been using it in Potions class a lot. It’s probably the reason why we passed that O.W.L.”  
  
  
 _So just like Harry...  
  
  
_ The Headmistress hummed and handed the distraught student a biscuit, which he gobbled up almost immediately.  
  
  
Horace rubbed his face, looking rather unamused. “No wonder your potion-making improved all of a sudden,” he said whilst flipping through the book’s pages absentmindedly. “Well— there’s not much we can do about that now, I’m afraid.”  
  
  
 _And people say **I** should learn how to sort my priorities..._

  
Rolling her eyes, Hermione placed a hand on Sirius’ shoulder. The skin beneath was tense, almost stone-like. “Sirius, _please_ say something...”  
  
  
Snapping out of his stupor, the man dashed towards Snape’s portrait with murderous intent. “You greasy bastard,” growled Sirius, “this is all your damn fault!”  
  
  
“Oh, is it now?” drawled Snape, eyebrows raised in mock intrigue. “Did you forget _why_ I created that curse in the first place, _Padfoot?_ ”  
  
  
 _Sirius isn’t a saint. The Marauders weren’t saints— but then again, neither was Professor Snape.  
  
  
  
_ “YOU SHUT YOUR DAMN MOUTH, _SNIVELLUS_!” Sirius screamed acidly, clenching his jaw tight. He reached for his wand but stopped himself at the very last moment. “Don’t you dare— I’m gonna shove that bloody book of yours where the sun don’t shine and—”  
  


“Professor Black!” Minerva interjected, pulling the infuriated man away from the portrait. Snape smirked triumphantly before disappearing from the frame, enraging Sirius even further. “Enough is enough, _Professor Black._ There are more important matters at hand right now.”

  
Taking several deep breaths, Sirius ran his trembling hands through his hair. “Right, right... you’re right...” Sirius mumbled dryly, pacing up and down the office again. “What are we gonna do about him? He should be punished accordingly.”

  
Minerva glanced at Vane, her mouth twitching almost imperceptibly. “Expelling you is out of the question, Mr. Vane— that’d be discrimination and unfair treatment,” she said whilst eyeing Sirius sternly, “we didn’t expel Mister Potter when he used that same curse on Mister Malfoy, after all.”  
  
  
Horace chimed in, seemingly done with the book... for the time being. “You didn’t expel him, but you _did_ punish him with a multitude of detentions— well, Severus did. If memory serves me right, Harry spent the remainder of the term serving detention with him.”  
  
  
“Exactly,” said Minerva calmly. “Mister Vane, you’ll have weekly detention with Professor Slughorn from now on. Until the end of the term.” Both professors shared a knowing look. “I’m sure that the dungeons could use some... _thorough_ cleaning from time to time. Furthermore, I will take seventy points from Gryffindor. As for your place in the Quidditch team... I’ll let Professor Granger decide what to do. Let this incident be a lesson, Mister Vane.”  
  
  
Vane nodded absentmindedly, not meeting anyone’s eyes.  
  
  
After a few seconds, the boy started shaking aggressively and sobbing loudly.  
  
  
 _Woah, what is—_  
  
  
“Mister Vane, what’s the—”  
  
  
“Black’s gonna kill me... I’m so done for...” Vane whispered hoarsely, lowering his head. “Black’s gonna kill me... I’m so done for... Black’s gonna kill me—” he let out an earsplitting scream that made Hermione flinch. “DON’T CALL HER PARENTS, PLEASE!”  
  
  
With slow and measured steps, Minerva approached the boy and smiled sadly. “Do rest assured, Mister Vane... even if we _wanted_ to, we cannot do such a thing.”

  
A nasty shiver ran down Hermione’s spine. _Her parents. Bellatrix’s parents..._

**_  
“YOU WERE IN MY VAULT!”_ **

_  
Hogwarts, Headmistress’ office, September 27th, 2002; nearly eight in the afternoon… breathe in, breathe out. Just like that... in and out, in and out... that’s it, you’re doing great, Hermione._

  
With a snort of wry amusement, Sirius patted the boy’s shoulder rather awkwardly. The tension between the two could be cut with a knife— a butter knife, even. “Don’t worry, _Trixie_ isn’t going to kill you. The same cannot be said about Andromeda and Narcissa, unfortunately. If I were you, I’d keep a close eye on my drinks from now on.” 

  
“Sirius!” Minerva and Horace warned simultaneously again, outraged, whilst the poor boy yelped.

_  
Jinx._

  
The Defense Against the Dark Arts professor held his hands up good-naturedly, rolling his eyes. “Calm down, I’m just saying the truth... and giving him a very useful piece of advice. We all know that Trixie loves a challenge— he probably even impressed her! Nobody’s defeated her in Merlin knows how long! And... well, as for Andromeda and Narcissa, you could say—”

  
“Alright, that’s enough,” Hermione said, smiling warmly at Vane. “Don’t worry, we’ll keep the situation under control. Everything is going to be alright, I promise. _Nobody_ is going to get hurt. You can go now, we’ll talk about your position on the Quidditch team later.” She gestured vaguely at the door and nodded at him encouragingly. When the terrified boy left, she turned around and faced her fellow professors. “Okay, what was _that_ about?”

  
“What was what about?” the three chorused at the same time.

_  
Jinx._

“The thing about Bellatrix’s sisters,” she said nervously. There was an awkward pause, quickly followed by a pained exhale. “A-And her parents...”

  
Horace smiled grimly. “Right, you don’t know... Cygnus and Druella Black changed sides before the Battle of Hogwarts. According to their testimonies, they simply couldn’t let their daughters grow up in a world where one single misstep meant severe punishment or death. After the war, they revealed most of the Death Eaters’ hideouts and theorised about the possible whereabouts of the runaway Death Eaters. They got pardoned, but were charged with five years of house arrest— that was four years ago. They should be out and around by summertime, if I’m not mistaken.”

**_  
“STOP!” he exclaimed, grabbing Abraxas’ left arm shakily. “Do not touch it, we shall perish if the Dark Lord comes now!”_ **

  
Sirius tutted, looking absolutely disgusted. “Those bloody snakes sure know how to save face... no offence, Horace.”

  
“None taken.”

  
“Neither of them took the Dark Mark. They got off the hook fairly easily because of that,” continued Sirius, pacing around the office again. 

_  
He does that a lot. Pacing. When he’s stressed, nervous, angry... being trapped inside a small cell in Azkaban must’ve been absolutely dreadful. Well— I mean... that much is obvious, considering that the jailers sucked the joy out of the prisoners, brought forth their most painful memories and drove them into mindless insanity...  
_  
  
“They told the whole Wizengamot that they’d been _threatened_ and _forced_ into compliance,” Sirius continued, laughing incredulously. “That the Death Eaters and You-Know-Who would hurt my cousins if they didn’t follow through with their plans. Rotten liars, both of them. They don’t fucking care about them, we all know that!”

  
“Is that why you’re here?” Hermione asked, putting two and two together. “To look after your cousins?”

  
Sirius smirked, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “How perceptive of you, Hermione. Teaching’s fun and all... but yes, that’s the reason why I’m still here. Else I would be living in the countryside with Harry as I promised him.”

  
Hermione nodded, processing the information with a little frown. “Well... if the Wizengamot pardoned them, there’s not much we can do about that... even it means...” She paused, made a face and shook her head. “Okay, but what about her sisters? What was _that_ about?”

  
Sirius stepped forward, shrugging one shoulder. “They are fiercely protective of one another. The three of them. Remember when I told you that Andromeda turned Lucius Malfoy into a ferret in front of Minnie?”

  
Minerva snorted, smirking broadly in spite of the gloomy atmosphere— _h_ _appiness can be found even in the darkest of times... if one remembers to turn on the light._ “I’d _never_ seen a third-year using Human Transfiguration up until that day. Let alone so expertly. Andromeda truly is Bellatrix’s sister, don’t you think?”

**_  
“Professor Moody turned Malfoy into a ferret!” Harry laughed loudly, tears running down his red cheeks. “It was brilliant, ‘Mione! Oh, how I wish you could have seen it.”_ **

_  
Well... looks like Lucius truly is Draco’s brother._

  
Sirius nodded, standing tall and proud. “It happened some hours after the Slytherin versus Ravenclaw match. Trixie had been knocked off her broom at the beginning of the game. Jack Jones caught the Snitch and Ravenclaw won. Cissa was worried out of her mind— the poor girl had never seen Trixie get hurt during a Quidditch match—”

  
“Is that a frequent occurrence?”

  
“More or less,” the three answered at the same time.

_  
Dear Lord, what’s going on today?_

  
Sirius cleared his throat. “ _Anyway_ , as I was saying before you interrupted me so rudely... Cissa was worried out of her mind. Lucius Malfoy _tried_ to reassure her countless times, but he only annoyed her further. Drommie turned him into a blonde squeaky ferret to humour Cissa a bit— Minnie and I just so happened to walk by and ruin their fun.”

  
Minerva shook her head, still smiling wryly. There was a gleam in her teal eyes. “Andromeda spent the following three weeks serving detention with me.”

  
“Why would a third-year pester a first-year?” Hermione questioned, raising an eyebrow. “And what about Narcissa? What’s her deal?”

  
Grimacing, Sirius sat down by the fireplace. “Ah... well, turns out that Malfoy has a little crush on my cousin. They’ve known each other for years, it seems— their parents probably set them up when they were younger or something.”

  
“Isn’t that— a bit weird? And a tad worrying?”

  
Sirius waved a dismissive hand. “That’s how things work in pure-blood societies. Could be _way_ worse. For example, Trixie got betrothed to a man six years older than her when she was a little kid. Ten years old, maybe? I don’t remember— Rodolphus Lestrange,” he spat the name with great contempt, clenching his hands tight.  
  
  
For whatever reason, Minerva’s expression darkened considerably upon hearing the name.  
  
  
“They betrothed Bellatrix to a bloody Death Eater!” Sirius continued, completely outraged. “We believe he was already involved with You-Know-Who by then. Can you fucking believe it? We, fortunately, caught him after the Battle of Hogwarts. Together with his brother. They’re rotting in Azkaban now.”  
  
 ** _  
“Mister Lestrange!” Madam Pince’s growl reverberated throughout the entire library. The bookshelves shook, as if afraid, seemingly sensing the librarian’s ire. Succumbing to her curiosity, Hermione focused her attention on the distraught woman, who was beyond livid. “You are not allowed in here anymore, leave at once! Out — out — OUT!”_ **

**_  
“Serves him right,” Hermione stated under her breath, flashing a triumphant smile, eyes narrowing in disgust. “Good ridd— huh?”_ **

**_  
Upon turning around, ready to resume her quote-unquote conversation with the raven-haired witch; Hermione found herself alone. The Slytherin girl had disappeared, vanished into thin air— left without a prior warning, unseen and unheard._ **

  
Hermione gawked at him, eyes wide with disbelief. Everything made sense now.   
  
  
_You were betrothed already, weren’t you? When we first met... and... you were running away from him. Hiding in the library because you knew he never went there. That’s why you disappeared all of a sudden without making a single noise. Why? Why were you running away from him? What happened to you?_

  
Her jaw dropped to the floor as more memories flooded her senses.

**_  
“I am looking for someone,” sneered Rodolphus, sauntering down the library’s corridors as if he owned the place._ **

**_  
“None of your business,” he replied dryly, eyes darting around dangerously. He grunted and left the library, clearly displeased._ **

**_  
“I am the heir of the Noble House of Lestrange,” he spat. “You do not have authority over me, you lowly librarian.”_ **

  
Unaware of Hermione’s inner turmoil, Sirius shrugged nonchalantly. “Malfoy having a crush on Cissa is anything but weird, believe me. Trixie, Drommie and I believe that the feeling goes both ways. He’s not a bad bloke per se, just a tad arrogant at times— besides, he’s scared shitless of Trixie and Drommie... he wouldn’t do anything remotely worrying even if he wanted to. Remember, fiercely protective of one another.”

  
Hermione nodded dumbly, sitting next to Sirius. “I-I see... that’s horrible! The betrothal thing, I mean.”

  
“Pure-blood families are just like that. Bunch of bigoted bastards, rotten to the core, ready to sell their offspring to the highest bidder...” Sirius shook his head, staring at the fireplace with a blank expression. The quiet flames lit up his face, highlighting the hatred in his grey eyes. “Thankfully, that has changed over the years. No more marrying underaged children off, the Ministry has made sure of that.”

  
“That’s good,” said Hermione, still feeling a bit uneasy about the whole thing. “And— well, what about Narcissa?”

  
Horace chimed in, smiling proudly. “Ah, Narcissa has a penchant for potions. Top of the class, just like her sisters— she spiked someone’s drink at the beginning of her first year here. Mixed some Alihotsy Draught with a Babbling Beverage and voilá.”

_  
Hysterical laughter and a babbling drink, interesting combination..._

  
“Why did she do that?” Hermione asked, flabbergasted. “Why would a first-year spike someone’s drink?”

  
“Remember the Boggart incident I mentioned a few weeks ago?” Sirius replied quietly, leaning against his backrest. Hermione nodded, her confusion doubling in size. “Well— people have been poking fun at Trixie for years because of that. Mostly behind her back, they’re scared of her and have no guts to say anything to her face. Cissa... well, she got fed up and spiked someone’s drink. As simple as that. Drommie and I still think _that_ was bloody brilliant, but Trixie wasn’t as impressed when she found out.”

  
Hermione looked around, trying to meet anyone’s eyes.  
  
  
They were _all_ avoiding eye contact like the plague.  
  
  
Much to her blatant surprise, even Minerva was trying to avoid her curious and intrigued stare. Shockingly enough, she looked... uncomfortable and tense.  
  
  
 _They are hiding something... something huge, most likely. There’s definitely more to this story... better not to push the topic just yet, though._

  
Raising her eyebrows, Hermione hummed softly. Her eyes landed on Snape’s old potions book. “What are we going to do about the book? It’s caused more heartbreak than anything.”

  
“Use it as kindling, obviously.”

  
In the blink of an eye, Sirius was levitating the _Advanced Potion-Making_ book and throwing it into the flames. He smirked at Snape’s portrait triumphantly, but it was empty still.

  
Hermione shook her head, smiling wryly. Though the atmosphere was beginning to lighten up, a sinking feeling settled on the pit of her stomach.  
  
  
It made her sick.

  
“I think you may have a thing for arson, Sirius.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just in case: Slughorn is there because he's Head of Slytherin. Hermione is there because she's Head of Gryffindor. Minerva is the Headmistress and the whole thing happened during Sirius' class. Perfect recipe for disaster, honestly.
> 
> Also don't worry about the Narcissa-Lucius thing, it'll stay as a crush for a looooong loooong time. It's gonna come into play in the future, though. Let's just say that Lucius ain't that bad and Draco made sure to guide his brother (lmao that sounds so weird but okay) down the right path after the whole Death Eater fiasco.


	8. VIII: Help me understand.

As expected, Saturday morning was downright _dreadful.  
  
  
_ Disbelieving whispers echoed throughout the corridors and the Great Hall, bouncing off the walls and reaching Hermione’s ringing ears. Her face creased with annoyance and frustration, golden eyes rolling in sheer exasperation. They all gossiped about the exact same thing. Just like broken records. _Honestly, this is getting ridiculous..._ And even though the Gryffindor and Slytherin students vehemently refused to speak about the matter, everyone talked and speculated.   
  
  
_“Oi, have you heard the rumours?”_ Evan Fawley asked, awe dripping from his voice. He leaned forward and smiled. _“They say that Vincent Vane has defeated Bellatrix Black in a duel. That’s bloody amazing!”  
  
  
“No, that’s utter bullshit!” _Ariana Riggs hissed back, a bit red in the face. _“Someone must be spreading lies— nothing new there, really; this school is full of gossips. In any case! C’mon, Evan, don’t be daft... there’s simply **no** way—”  
  
  
_Edward Tonks slammed his fist against the table, eyeing the Slytherin one nervously. _“Cut it out already! You guys are being rude, disrespectful and—”  
  
  
“Teddie to the rescue!”_ the other boy teased with a smirk, nudging Tonks playfully. _“Anyhow. Just turn around, Ari! Do you see **any** of the Black sisters around? Heck, not even Professor Black is here today! Something huge must’ve happened if he’s missing breakfast. He loves food!_ _”  
  
  
_ Hermione glanced at Sirius’ empty seat silently, a pout tugging at her pursed lips. The man had been so devastated... _Because he’s traumatised,_ she mused whilst drinking some of her coffee. Sleep hadn’t been kind to her again. She kept picturing Black’s unmoving body, a pool of blood gathering beneath the girl... _Sirius’ lost so many people over the years, he’s afraid of losing someone else.  
  
  
_ Riggs huffed audibly and faced Fawley again. _“That doesn’t mean anything, Evan. Bla— Bellatrix skips breakfast all the time and you know it.”  
  
  
“You’ve got a point... what a weirdo,” _he said, shrugging one shoulder. _“But what about her sisters and Professor Black, hmm? Oi, Ted, you’re chummy with Andromeda— surely you know something!”  
_

  
 _“I— of course not!”_ Tonks countered weakly, blushing a rich shade of red. _“They’re probably busy or some—”_  
  
  
Out of nowhere, Evan McLaggen chimed in. “Ah, but Vincent _did_ win that duel,” he practically screamed, chuckling in a self-important manner. “And I won a hundred galleons, mind you.”  
  
  
Almost everyone turned around and stared at the pompous Gryffindor with unconcealed intrigue and wonder. All while McLaggen basked in the attention, spreading his arms wide dramatically.  
  
  
 _Oh, dear..._  
  
  
“It was bloody amazing,” continued McLaggen with a smirk, ignoring the indignant hisses coming from his fellow sixth-years. The Slytherins looked positively _murderous_ at the current moment whereas the Gryffindors looked scared for their lives. “Black owned his ass for the most part, but he eventually got up and—”  
  
  
Grimacing, Hermione grabbed her wand and pointed at the Gryffindor Prefect as subtly as possible. _“Langlock,”_ she whispered without moving her lips, covering her mouth with her calyx for good measure. Immediately after, McLaggen clutched at his throat, swallowed hard and stormed out of the Great Hall whilst making guttural noises. The students roared with laughter, unaware of what had just transpired.   
  
  
_I must admit,_ she mused while taking an actual sip of her coffee, _Professor Snape **did** create some useful spells.   
  
  
_“How convenient, don’t you think?” said Minerva, giving Hermione a _very_ pointed look. “Well— as muggles say, never look a gift horse in the mouth.”  
  
  
Hermione laughed nervously and squirmed in her seat, her cheeks growing hotter and hotter by the second. “That’s a... very good saying...”  
  
  
After an hour or so, the students started talking about something else. _Finally, thank God!_ thought Hermione tiredly, hearing them gush about classes, assignments, plans for the weekend, Hogsmeade dates, Quidditch tryouts... sure, some kept wondering about the infamous duel on occasion, but not with great fervour anymore.  
  


The young professor relaxed somewhat, letting out a lengthy exhale. _No more disbelieving whispers, no more dripping awe, no more insensitive comments... finally, a sliver of peace... of normality._ Lost in thoughts, Hermione studied her students with a pensive look on her face. Most of them laughed warmly, talked about anything and everything, shared knowing looks and mischievous smiles...  
  
  
 _There’s something going on,_ an intrigued voice crooned in the depths of her mind. _Everyone was... overly enthused about the rumours. Black’s called ‘The Best Duellist of Her Age’ for some reason, but that doesn’t explain their reactions... not really. There’s... there’s something going on; a well-kept secret waiting to be unfolded._

  
  


* * *

  
  
  
After gathering all of her Gryffindor courage, Hermione strode into the Hospital Wing shortly after lunchtime. As expected, the beds were neatly made and empty... all except one.   
  
  
_Ah, everything comes back to this one bed... too coincidental to be a coincidence..._ Hermione mused wryly, glancing at the sleeping witch with a raised eyebrow. Crookshanks Jr. lay on Black’s stomach without a single care in the world, purring happily. _Well, I should’ve expected that.  
  
  
 **“I think your cat likes me.”**_

  
He certainly did.  
  
  
With utmost care, Hermione approached the two— and took a step back when Crookshanks Jr. jumped toward her, catching him mid-air again. He pawed her messy curls, pupils dilating in delight. He looked... so adorable and innocent. And her heart melted a bit.   
  
  
Hermione chuckled softly, smiling at him. “Hello, my handsome boy. I’ve been looking for you all morning long,” she whispered lovingly, lifting him a bit. “Why don’t you pester Sirius a bit, hm?”  
  
  
Crookshanks Jr. looked back at Black and meowed, his tail twirling in the air.  
  
  
After putting him down, Hermione patted his head and exhaled wearily. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye on her,” she promised quietly. Her stomach was up in knots again, nervousness running through her veins at the mere prospect of being all alone with Bellatrix Black. “Come on, run along.”  
  
  
Another look, another meow.  
  
  
The part-Kneazle dashed toward the opened doors and exited the Hospital Wing at record speed. Hermione watched him go, fondness blazing in her golden eyes, before facing the sleeping _—unconscious, perhaps?—_ witch with a thoughtful expression.  
  
  
There were two healing salves on her face —one covering her left cheek almost completely and the other on her right temple— and a large one on her neck. Her fair skin was paler than usual, her lips looked dry and the dark rings beneath her eyes were more noticeable than ever before. Her black mane of curls —which Crookshanks Jr. had probably pawed to infinity and beyond— was idly scattered across the white pillow.   
  
  
She looked so small and... oddly at peace.  
  
  
“He didn’t mean it,” whispered Hermione hesitantly, taking a seat next to Black. Her heart thrummed wildly in her chest, almost deafening. “Vane, I mean. He didn’t know what that spell would do...”  
  
  
Hermione leaned against the uncomfortable backrest, licking her lips thoughtfully. “I believe him... I really do. He found that curse in an _Advanced Potion-Making_ book that belonged to Snape, the old Potions Master, back in his student days...” She paused and narrowed her eyes for a second. “Wait, do you know about him? Professor Snape— oh! Yeah, you definitely do. He was the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor in your first year, became Headmaster for a couple of months after...”  
  
  
Pushing the heartrending memories away, she shook her head. _Focus, Hermione. Just keep talking.  
  
  
_ “In any case, the book was his. He made many annotations— about potions and the spells he’d created throughout his life,” continued Hermione softly. “Creating spells... that’s impressive, don’t you think? Anyway... he wrote _Sectumsempra: For enemies_ and called it a day. Vane didn’t know it would... cut you open, basically.”  
  
  
Black didn’t stir awake.  
  
  
“Harry did something similar in our sixth year,” said Hermione with a nostalgic smile. “You’ve probably heard about it already... but, just like Vane, he found the book and started using it almost religiously. Bit infuriating, if you ask me. In any case, he found the _Sectumsempra_ curse along with many others. One day, he used that curse against Draco Malfoy in a bathroom during a duel— he was a rightful prat, but he didn’t deserve that. And even though he tried to use the _Cruciatus Curse_ on Harry, he didn’t deserve _that..._ ” Hermione eyed the healing salves again. Part of her wanted to... reach out and stroke them... “You were taunting and mocking him, but you didn’t deserve that either.”  
  
  
Her heart writhed painfully as her mouth curved into a small yet sad smile.  
  
  
Even though Black was unresponsive, rambling to her felt... nice.  
  
  
“Do you remember our first encounter?” Hermione asked quietly, shocking herself for a moment. Her mouth was betraying her brain. “I was actually looking for information about the _Half-Blood Prince_ , which was Professor Snape’s alias. It was before Christmas, a couple of days before Slughorn’s party. I remember it vividly... you caught me off guard,” she said, chuckling softly at the memory. “I didn’t even hear you approach me— nor did I hear you leave. You just said my name, you sounded _so_ awed. You took me by surprise there, to be honest. I was expecting you to insult me in true Slytherin fashion— ah, no offense! But you... you didn’t. You just... stood there and said my name in awe. What was that even about?”  
  
  
 _And then... you ran away because Rodolphus arrived. I wonder... if that hadn’t happened, would we’ve talked some more?_

 **_  
The younger witch hummed, twirling her thumb ring —a nondescript, black accessory which contrasted with her pale skin effortlessly— left and right. Not once did those silver eyes leave Hermione’s golden ones, seemingly studying them in detail— her gaze was simply unreadable. Moments later, her mouth curved into what her fellow Gryffindors had dubbed_ ** _the Slytherin smirk_ ** _.  
_ **

**_  
Shockingly, the girl’s smirk changed all of a sudden— it morphed into something else entirely.  
_**

**_  
“You are Hermione Granger.”_ **

**_  
Awed._ **

**_  
The Slytherin had sounded awed._ **

  
“I really don’t understand...” Her voice wavered, dying off softly. _So many questions, not enough answers..._ Her mouth couldn’t keep up with her brain. Her thoughts were running wild at speeds unknown even to her.  
  
  
 _How did you know about me? No... who told you about me? Why did you sound so awed? Why did you lie for me at Malfoy Manor? Why did you look so surprised when I apologised to you in the Reference Section of the library? Why do you pay close attention to my boring anecdotes? Why can’t I understand you?_

  
“Why did you taunt him?” Hermione finally asked, settling for a relatively easy question. “During the duel— you kept mocking him. I don’t understand... why did you do that? You could’ve won without much of a problem, and yet...”

 _  
_“Reverse psychology.”  
  
  
Hermione yelped loudly, jumping out of her skin.  
  
  
Black chuckled.  
  
  
Golden eyes met silver ones, plunging in a sea of tiredness and lurking smugness. _Once a Slytherin, always a Slytherin... bloody hell, I almost had a heart attack!  
  
  
_ “You’re awake,” squeaked Hermione, “how long have you been awake?”  
  
  
The student rolled her eyes. “No, this is just a figment of your imagination.” A slim, bandaged arm came out from underneath the sheets, resting atop Black’s face for a moment. The thumb ring shone, reflecting the sunlight that entered the Hospital through the window behind. “Alright, that was uncalled for.”  
  
  
 _She’s ignoring my question._ Making a face, Hermione shrugged one shoulder. “Understandable, you must be pretty tired. Everyone says things they don’t mean when they’re tired.”  
  
  
“I—” Black stared at her incredulously, as if Hermione had grown a second head all of a sudden. “But I’m not. I feel fine.”  
  
  
“What— but that’s impossible!”

  
“Ever taken a Bludger to the head, professor?”

  
Hermione’s eyes widened in disbelief. “I— no, I’ve never played Quidditch.”

  
Black smirked. “I know. Lucky you, a Bludger to the head hurts like a bit— hurts quite a lot. It’s extremely disorienting, I’ll tell you that. One moment you’re fine and soaring through the skies, the next one you’re waking up five days later in the Hospital Wing and feeling as though a troll had thrashed you for hours on end. This is nothing in comparison to that.”

  
Inevitably, Hermione rolled her eyes and smiled warmly. Her student’s antics were entertaining, to say the least. Then it hit her. _Wait a moment— how does she know I’ve never played Quidditch? Someone must have told her, but why?_

  
“In any case,” drawled Black, rubbing her eyes lazily. “Finishing that duel right away would’ve been _boring_. So... I taunted him because that’s what I always do. People get furious when you poke fun at them, you see. They lose their patience and start attacking blindly—”

  
“Which makes their spells less well-aimed...”

  
With a snort of amusement, Black nodded. “Indeed. However, it can backfire,” she said as she vaguely gestured at herself. “Lesson learnt. Less cockiness, more action.”

  
None of them talked for a couple of minutes after that. In the silence of the Hospital Wing, one could vaguely hear some students cheering outside, running along the corridors somewhere and giggling.

  
“Why are you here, professor?”

  
Hermione looked away from the window, raising one eyebrow. Both of Black’s bandaged arms were atop the covers now, fingers playing distractedly with her thumb ring. There seemed to be a carving on its surface, but Hermione couldn’t see it properly.

  
Black was staring at her hands, face devoid of any and all expression.

  
“Because you are my student,” said Hermione carefully, observing the young Slytherin. “And I care about whatever happens to you.”  
  
  
 _And because I need to know... there are so many things I don’t understand about you. Many things I wish to understand... and, for some odd reason, I keep coming back to you... does that make sense? Am I just overthinking again? Am I imagining things? I simply don’t understand..._

  
“Is that so?” Black questioned, looking unconvinced. Her hands curled into fists clenched tight enough to shake. The girl’s forehead was creased with something akin to annoyance or confusion, Hermione couldn’t quite tell. Before Hermione could say anything, Black opened her fists and sighed. “That’s nice, I suppose.”  
  
  
 _And I cannot help but wonder—  
  
  
_ “Why do people... fear you?” Hermione blurted out, unable to stop herself. “I— fuck, I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean it like _that._ I don’t know why I said—”

  
Black cackled loudly, covering her eyes with her right hand.  
  
  
Her mouth curved into the Slytherin signature smirk once again.  
  
  
Shivers ran down Hermione’s spine.

  
“For the same reason as _you_ , Professor Granger.”

  
Shocked, the Transfiguration professor gawked at Black almost offensively for an entire minute. Before Hermione could say something — _anything_ at all— to her amused student, Madam Pomfrey strode into the Hospital Wing.

  
“Good afternoon,” the nurse greeted them tiredly. “Hermione, dear, I need you to leave. I have to check on Miss Black’s lacerations, change her bandages and administer some potions. And she needs plenty of rest. So... see yourself out, please.”

  
Nodding dumbly, Hermione stood up with wobbly knees. Arguing with Madam Pomfrey was futile, even more so in her own territory. The witch gulped hard, feeling Black’s eyes boring holes into the back of her head on her way to the exit.

  
Hermione couldn’t stop thinking about those words for the remainder of the day. Once again, Bellatrix Black had managed to render her completely speechless with just a few words and the sentiment behind them. The reply had stirred something deep inside of her— guilt, shame, remorse, sadness and pity.

 _  
I am not afraid of her,_ mused Hermione sadly later that night, eyelids fluttering close. _I just want to understand..._


	9. IX: A few answers (and a hundred more questions).

_“Hello, ‘Mione! We hope everything’s alright...”  
  
  
_ Absentmindedly, she lifted a chunk of bread. Trawney —the Weasley family’s new owl, a beautiful Eastern Screech-Owl— devoured the treat right away and hooted happily, flapping its wings a bit.   
  
  
_“Sirius told us about the accident,”_ she kept reading quietly, _“he sounded so distressed in his letter... Harry got really pale when he heard the news and mum nearly dropped a plate. We hope his cousin’s doing better now. And... we wanted to ask you a favour. Please keep an eye on him for us, alright?”_ Hermione hummed and glanced at Sirius with a sad smile.   
  
  
He was having a heated argument with Andromeda and Narcissa, who looked beyond livid— _quite a frightening sight, honestly. I’ve never seen those two like that; Andromeda’s always smirking and Narcissa’s like a closed book, almost impossible to read._ All three of them were sitting at the end of the Slytherin table, staring at those who dared eavesdrop on their conversation with murderous intent. _Clearly a Black trait._  
  
  
That certainly did the trick. Nobody in their right mind —except for Hermione, of course— tried to listen in on their little dispute, far too frightened of the Black cousins.  
  
 _  
“For the last bloody time,”_ hissed Sirius in sheer exasperation, threading a hand through his hair. _“You cannot spike someone’s drink, Cissa. You’d get in trouble and I ain’t helping you again.”_  
  
  
 _“That has never stopped me before, now has it?”_ the blonde replied harshly, almost haughtily; glaring daggers at a whimpering Vincent Vane. _“Besides, nobody has ever—”_  
  
_  
_Andromeda rubbed her temples with one hand, raising the other slowly. _“Okay... Sirius is right,”_ she interjected, _“whether we like it or not.”  
_  
  
Sirius chuckled darkly and leaned forward. _“Don’t play coy now, Drommie. You cannot turn him into anything either, understood? You’ll give ‘em more shit to gossip about, for Merlin’s sake!”_   
  
  
_“Awww...”_ Andromeda cooed with a pout, reminding Hermione of her elder sister a bit. _“That’s really unfortunate... Vane would definitely make a lovely rat, don’t you think?”_  
  
  
Her cousin groaned, burying his face in his hands. _“Just— don’t do anything stupid, okay? It was a fuckin’ accident, he didn’t do that on purpose. Trixie’s fine and that’s what matters. You of all people should know that.”_  
  
  
Hermione sighed and scratched Trawney’s fluffy chest distractedly. _“We are worried about him— and you, for that matter. Again, you have a humongous heart and empathise way too much. Sirius told us you screamed at him... that you were panicked and highly concerned about your student. And that’s understandable... but do take care of yourself, okay? You’re always pushing your needs aside and helping others as much as possible.”_ She rolled her eyes good-naturedly, warmth bubbling in her chest pleasantly. They really did care about her... _“On a happier note, we’ll visit you soon! Lots of love from Ginny and Harry.”_  
  
  
Raising one eyebrow, Hermione looked at Trawney as though he held the answers to all her problems and dilemmas. The small owl hooted softly, amber eyes blinking twice.  
  
  
“That was... informative,” she said between giggles, offering him another chunk of bread. “You can go now, I’m not going to send them a reply just yet.”  
  
  
And with that being said, the auburn owl pecked her fingers gently before flying away.   
  
  
A loud voice echoed throughout the Great Hall, shocking everyone present.  
  
  
“D-Did you just call Sirius a _pusillanimous?_ ” Andromeda screamed whilst chuckling boisterously, her laugh a rich and bubbly sound. Tears ran down her flushed cheeks as her body doubled up with laughter. “What in the actual fuck, Cissy!”   
  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Afternoon classes — _especially Monday ones, those are horrid... though Friday’s are a close_ _second—_ tended to be rather uneventful. Her students were bored out of their minds, nodding off more often than not, completely unable to pay attention to her lectures and eager to storm out of the classroom and call it a day.  
  


Today was different.  
  
  
October 7th, the beginning of Quidditch tryouts.   
  
  
The Slytherin students strode into the grand Transfiguration classroom, speaking in heated whispers and sporting ecstatic smiles. _An awfully rare occurrence in and of itself_ , thought Hermione before catching herself. _Don’_ _t be rude!_ _They’re just kids enjoying their favourite sport, for God’s sake._ “I heard that the Quidditch tryouts are horrible, mate!” William Greengrass practically screamed, visibly torn between fright and delight. Slytherins really loved a challenge.

  
Felix Rosier chuckled, taking a seat next to him at the back of the class. “Bah, what a gross understatement,” he said, eyeing the door with a knowing smirk. He wiggled his eyebrows and nudged Greengrass’ side. “Black is the most demanding captain the Slytherin team’s ever had. No wonder we’re actually good.” 

  
“Is it true what they say?” Greengrass asked, his whole face lighting up like a tree on Christmas day. “Does Black use rogue Bludgers during the tryouts? And her training sessions?”

  
“Why don’t you find out for yourself, Billy?” A husky voice, one that always made Hermione’s hair stand on edge for some reason, replied nonchalantly.  
  
  
Everyone turned around roughly at the same time, glancing at Bellatrix Black with blatant intrigue and shock. The witch rolled her eyes, glared back and walked towards her seat in complete silence... as though she owned the place.  
  
  
 _Not even a week in the Hospital Wing can moderate her attitude,_ mused Hermione with a small smile, _good to see that some things never change._

  
Golden eyes met silver ones, impassive and unreadable.  
  
  
 _I am not afraid of you,_ thought Hermione whilst nodding at the newcomer, _I’m really not._ Black raised an eyebrow, looking both wary and unimpressed. _Well— that’s understandable... these things take time, right? Just ask her to stay behind after class and talk things out, Granger._

  
“Good afternoon, everyone!” the professor greeted before clapping her hands loudly. “I’m quite sure you’re all enthused about the upcoming Quidditch tryouts, but please do remember this is your _Transfiguration_ class.” A pause, a pointed look, a barely-there smile. Most students blushed a rich shade of red, nodding sheepishly and apologising under their breaths. Professor McGonagall would be _so_ proud of her. “Now, I hope you’ve all brought the essay on Human Transfiguration I asked for the other day... oh, Miss Bla—”  
  
Much to Hermione’s surprise, Black started rummaging through her satchel —unlike a few students at the back— with a carefully blank expression. After a couple of seconds, Black produced some parchments and placed them on her desk. Pride shimmered within her silver eyes, a haughty smirk tugging at her pursed lips. Her whole attitude _screamed_ self-satisfaction.

  
Hermione blinked twice and cleared her throat awkwardly, staring at the girl’s assignment in surprise. _How’s this even possible? Black was still in the Hospital Wing when I asked for these essays and she was discharged this morning... and if I recall correctly, Madam Pomfrey doesn’t let students work on their assignments while they’re there..._

  
“Er— I’m sorry, Professor Granger,” mumbled Fawley nervously, shifting in his seat left and right. “I-I seem to have forgotten my essay in the Common Room.”

  
“Is that so?” Hermione questioned calmly, leaning against the professor’s desk almost casually. _That excuse’s been used since time immemorial. One’d think students would come up with better excuses over the years, but that doesn’t seem to be the_ case... she smiled at the offhand thought, remembering her student days. Her classmates —especially Harry and Ron— had uttered those words _countless_ times throughout the years, much to her blatant amusement and eternal chagrin. “What did I say on Friday morning, Mr. Fawley?”

 **  
**A memory crossed her mind rapidly.  
  
  
 _ **“And one last thing, Hermione,” said Minerva, coming to a halt. She had a knowing glint in her teal eyes. “Be fair but strict in class, will you? Have no tolerance for silliness, don’t let your students fool around. They’ll be very excited to have you around. And they’ll probably expect you to be soft and forgiving,” she encouraged, a small smirk curving her pursed lips. “I’ve always found that tactic rather useful, you see. Good luck, Professor Granger. Welcome to the staff.”**_ **  
**  
  
Hermione had always admired Professor McGonagall, the _Brightest Witch of Her Age_ and a renown figure in the wizarding world. She commanded absolute respect and authority in a way almost nobody could, kind yet stern. Her classes were simply fascinating, a welcome breath of fresh air and an invigorating challenge for a brainiac like Hermione, who had shamelessly memorised plenty of said lectures throughout the years whilst committing her mentor’s methodology to memory through and through.  
  
  
Fawley scratched the back of his head sheepishly, guilt clouding his features. “Should you not hand in your assignments on time, you will face detention. This is N.E.W.T.-level Transfiguration, so please do behave accordingly.”  
  
  
Needless to say, Hermione’s methodology —a blatant carbon copy of Professor McGonagall’s— had thrown most of her poor students off at first.   
  
  
Hermione nodded slowly, crossing her arms over her chest with a really small smirk. “Exactly, Mister Fawley.” Her golden eyes darted around the classroom. Black was facing away from her, looking outside the window instead. “Anyone else?”  
  
  
Another Hufflepuff and a Slytherin raised their hands, not meeting Hermione’s inquiring gaze. They were like deers caught in the headlights, probably afraid of serving detention in the Forbidden Forest late at night.   
  
  
“You’ll be writing lines after dinner,” she stated blankly, “don’t forget your assignments again, please. Consider this a warning.”  
  
  
Relief crossed their faces as they chanted, “yes, professor!” in unison.  
  
  
After collecting the others’ assignments, Hermione dove into her lecture. The theory behind Conjuration, an advanced form and type of Transfiguration and some of the most complex magic taught at Hogwarts. The topic was absolutely entrancing.  
  
  
“Conjurations are distinguished from the other branches of Transfiguration,” said Hermione enthusiastically, “by their ability to transfigure the desired object from thin air whereas its polar opposite, Vanishment, causes desired objects to disappear from existence and turn them into non-being.”  
  
  
A few students fell asleep mid-lecture.  
  
  
“Interestingly enough, Conjuration has _some_ overlap with normal charms and a couple of Dark ones.” That made the Slytherin students both restless and curious. Black nodded to herself, scribbling something on a piece of parchment. “Such as the Water-Making Spell or the Floating eye curse.”  
  
  
After a few demonstrations —namely conjuring a flower bouquet and the mirrors used during the _Crinus Muto_ class— that caught mostly everyone’s attention, Hermione explained the dangers of Conjuration before dismissing the class. 

  
“Many things can go wrong when attempting to conjure something from nothing, especially in the case of living creatures. If Conjuration is not performed exactly right or if the caster is simply messing around with Conjuring Spells, mistakes such as frog-rabbit hybrids can occur,” explained Hermione, producing various pictures of said creatures. Some students found them cute, others gagged. “The hybrids in question can be explainable by the magical law Principle of Artificianimate Quasi-Dominance. Things such as severed heads and indeterminate stumps can also occur when the conjuration isn’t exactly right.”

  
Rubbing her hands nervously, Hermione leaned against the professor’s table again. The students looked at her expectantly, eager to break free from her metaphorical grasp. “We will practice some Conjuration spells the next day. Mister Fawley, Miss Abbot and Mister Avery; do remember to bring your assignments on Friday morning. Class dismissed, have a nice day.”  
  
  
Everyone rushed out of the classroom.  
  
  
 _Now or never,_ thought Hermione while swallowing hard. “Miss Black, a word.”  
  
  
Throwing her satchel around her shoulders nonchalantly, the Slytherin rose from her seat and shook her head. “I’m afraid not, Professor Granger,” replied Black whilst walking away, “I have some Quidditch tryouts to run. Have a nice afternoon.”

  
Hermione gawked at her retreating form, speechless and frozen in place. _I— what— what the..._  
  
  
Black stepped out of the classroom, turned left and disappeared from sight. Her heels echoed throughout the hallways for a couple of seconds, powerful and deafening, before fading into a soft and distant noise. 

  
“What in the actual—”

  
  


* * *

  
  


“Sapere aude.”  
  
  
The gargoyle sprang to life and stepped aside, granting Hermione entrance to the Headmistress’s office. 

  
Her thoughts were running wild again, almost spiralling out of control. Bile crawled its way up her throat as she recalled her failed interaction with Bellatrix Black.   
  


_What was that about? Did I offend her somehow?_ Hermione wondered, stepping into Minerva’s office with a tired smile. _Have I done something wrong? I just— I don’t understand her!_  
  
  
And the lack of understanding was driving her mad. _  
  
  
_“Hermione, to what do I owe the pleasure?” Minerva said, looking away from her paperwork. She sounded mildly surprised. “Sit down. Biscuit?” _  
  
_  
Shaking her head, Hermione sat down in front of her mentor. “No, thank you. I— well, I’m here for guidance, so to speak.”  
  
  
Teal eyes widened a tad. “Whatever for?”

  
 _Ah, here it comes._ Hermione swallowed hard, staring at her trembling hands with newfound interest. “A student’s caught my attention lately. The one you warned me about before the term started, I believe...”  
  
  
“Bellatrix Black.”  
  
  
Hermione nodded tersely and licked her dry lips. Sweat ran down her face in rivulets. “Exactly. I— cannot understand her, honestly. Don’t get me wrong, she’s brilliant and very capable, but... I cannot understand her.”

  
Minerva raised one eyebrow, leaning forward with a thoughtful expression. “I’m not following you, Hermione. What’s the matter?”  
  
  
“I— er... it’s complicated. I first met her in the library. Back in my sixth year, a few days before Slughorn’s Christmas party,” explained Hermione quietly. “The encounter was... unusual, for the lack of a better word. Miss Black approached me all of a sudden, said my name in awe and left without prior warning shortly after. Then...” Her golden eyes snapped shut, distress seeping into her bones and clawing at her soul. The _‘Mudblood’_ carving started aching terribly. “We met again a year later. When the Snatchers caught us and took us to Malfoy Manor.”

  
Breathing heavily, Hermione opened her eyes and glanced at Minerva. Her mentor’s teal eyes spoke volumes to her. _It’s alright, you’re safe here. Everything’s over, nobody can hurt you now._

  
“I am aware,” said Minerva carefully, almost wistfully. “Bellatrix told me about... what transpired there. Quite vaguely, that is.”  
  
  
“Wha—”

  
She raised one hand, smiling kindly. “Hermione, I told her about you. We talked about you more often than not.”  
  
  
“What?” Hermione asked in a small voice. “Why?”   
  
  
Minerva exhaled wearily, her expression growing solemn. “Bellatrix is a brilliant student, but there’s no denying that she _is_ her parents’ daughter.” As she said that, an unpleasant shiver ran down Hermione’s spine. “I caught her belittling muggle-borns and half-bloods quite frequently during her first year. She’d often hex them for no particular reason. A few Hufflepuffs here, some Gryffindors there...”

  
“When you say _belittle_ —”

  
Her fingers twitched as her left forearm throbbed in pain, the _‘Mudblood’_ scar roaring back to life once more.  
  
  
“Yes,” replied Minerva knowingly. “I gave her detention _countless_ times, tried to change those bigoted views... Albus saw lots of potential in her, as did I. As weeks went by, I told her about you. Bellatrix reminded me so much of you, you know? Intelligent, dedicated, hard-working, passionate and way ahead of her peers. She was just... very misguided.”  
  
  
Those words struck a chord within Hermione.  
  
  
Minerva sighed again as her mouth curved into a nostalgic smile. “I was desperate... I really wanted to change those bigoted values. So I told her about your many adventures with Potter and Weasley, your exceptional performance in class, your impressive O.W.L. results. Thankfully, her views on muggle-borns changed a tad after all those detentions. And even though she tried to appear disinterested, I knew that she was genuinely intrigued about your achievements.”  
  
  
 _Is that why she listens to my anecdotes? Because she’s intrigued about me?_ Hermione wondered, clenching and unclenching her trembling hands. _If that’s the case, why is she avoiding me now? God, I cannot understand Slytherins at all..._  
  
  
Exasperated, she ran a hand through her curls. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t—”  
  
  
“Things were rather hectic back then, were they not?” Minerva answered, leaning against her backrest.  
  
  
She had a point.  
  
  
 _Katie Bell’s near-death experience, the duel between Harry and Draco, a group of Death Eaters infiltrating Hogwarts,_ Hermione recalled slowly, giddy with anxiousness. _Dumbledore’s death and funeral, the height of the Second Wizarding War, the Horcruxes, the fall of the Ministry of Magic, the Battle of Hogwarts, the aftermath...  
  
  
_ “I still don’t understand—”  
  
  
“Nobody really does,” interjected Minerva calmly, cracking another kind smile. “Except her family, of course. Bellatrix is a highly complex person, Hermione... a Slytherin through and through. If it makes you feel any better, I still don’t understand her myself. I’ve tried for so many years, but I still cannot figure her out entirely.”  
  
  
 _And how’s that supposed to make me feel better?  
  
_  
Hermione sighed and rubbed her eyes tiredly.  
  
  
Unbidden, their conversation in the Hospital Wing crossed her mind again.  
  
  
 _ **“Why do people... fear you?”**_  
  
  
 _ **“For the same reason as you, Professor Granger.”**_  
  
  
 _Wait a moment... that’s exactly why! Her parents,_ a little voice whispered in the back of her head, _everyone in the wizarding world fears her parents. How could they possibly not? They’ve supported and followed Voldemort for decades, they were unmarked Death Eaters! Everyone fears Cygnus and Druella Black, which is why everyone’s afraid of her... and she was betrothed to Rodolphus Lestrange, another Death Eater! She must’ve been surrounded by Death Eaters for years... besides, she’s an impressive duelist and a Slytherin through and through. Ugh, it makes so much sense now!_  
  
  
Tentatively, Hermione glanced at Minerva again. “One last question, if I may,” she whispered. “Sirius mentioned something about a Boggart incident a couple of times now, but he’s never explained anything to me. What’s that about, Minerva?”  
  
  
The light in her mentor’s eyes became dull once more. “I cannot tell you, Hermione. I would break her trust if I do.”  
  
  
 _More secrets. Fantastic...  
  
  
_ Nodding grimly, Hermione rose from her seat and smiled at her. “Thank you for listening to me, Profe— Minerva. I really needed that.” She clenched her hands and walked towards the door, a hundred more questions rushing through her head aimlessly.  
  
  
“Hermione,” called Minerva. The younger witch turned around and faced her mentor with a defeated expression. “If you want answers, you’ll have to talk with her. I know she’s very stubborn and hard to approach, but you won’t get any answers otherwise.”  
  
  
 _I know... but I already tried, Minerva... and I failed miserably.  
  
  
_ “You’re right,” she admitted softly. “I’ll see what I can do. Goodnight, Minerva.”  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The gargoyle passwords were all sweet-themed during Dumbledore’s time as Headmaster, so I assume that McGongall’s would be more knowledge-themed.
> 
> Sapere aude stands for "dare to know" :)


	10. X: The Forgotten Tales of Burgundy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is exactly 0:01 right now, so... Merry Christmas, you lot!
> 
> My gift for you: a bit of lore, Hermione figuring things out and gathering up the courage to go talk with Bella, wohoo!

**_October 27th, 1979._ **

_  
Unfortunately, I have attended yet another meeting.  
  
  
When is this nightmare going to end? My sanity’s slipping through the gaps of my fingers. I’m finally reaching the point of no return... the overwhelming guilt, the madness, the deafening voices at night, the never-ending fear and weariness, the victims’ pleas and cries... I cannot deal with this anymore. I don’t even know who I am anymore. The lines between right and wrong are getting blurred.  
  
  
As always, the Dark Lord’s a cunning and silver-tongued man. An expert manipulator and a charming orator. He wraps you around His fingers, whispering sweet delusions into your ear until you’re at His complete mercy. Until the fine line between good and evil exists no longer. He speaks words of wealth, power, freedom and magnificence. He speaks of an uncorrupted world reigned over by pure-bloods, a world where we can finally roam free and unrestrained. A world where we shan’t hide anymore. A world where the ‘lesser creatures’ cannot tamper with our magic, where they cannot steal what’s rightfully ours ever again. A world where Squibs shan’t be Squids, but powerful wizards and witches capable of unimaginable feats. A world where our children can grow happy and unfettered, proud and strong beyond their years.  
  
  
The perfect utopia...  
  
  
Today, our generous Lord’s spoken about pure-blooded heirs and the near future. About reclaiming what’s ours, setting new lands, repopulating the world with respectable individuals, raising the next generation of powerful wizards and brilliant witches...  
  
  
Tsk, I almost laughed right then and there. What a bunch of bollocks, honestly.  
  
  
Death Eaters are drunk with power, bigoted and extremely prejudiced. They cannot see beyond His lies and incoherences. Most of those monsters are obsessed with blood purity. Hah, joke’s on them— in a few years, they’ll produce Squibs left and right... Squibs that will be murdered in cold blood. Just like muggle-borns and other half-breeds, for they’ll be considered ‘lesser’ and ‘impure’ by these deranged individuals. Wouldn’t be the first time something like that happens, sadly. I’m not entirely sure about half-bloods, though... He’s one of them, after all. Maybe they’d get a second chance as long as they pledge loyalty to Him or something of the like.   
  
  
But enough about that.  
  
  
The Malfoys are expecting, apparently. They’re ecstatic, glowing with life and happiness— and I don’t know how to feel about that. They’re not as radical as the others, but they’re still bigoted and cruel to the core. In any case. They believe their child —I’ve read their minds, Abraxas wishes for an heir whereas Henrietta’s secretly hoping for an heiress— will be born in late May or early June.  
  
  
Curiously enough, another five families are expecting an heir as well. Two are renown Death Eaters whilst the other three are mere sympathisers of the Dark Lord’s cause: Crabbe, Goyle, Parkinson, Greengrass and Zabini, respectively. What a lovely coincidence indeed... the Dark Lord congratulated the Crabbe and Goyle marriages but merely acknowledged the other three couples. Such a generous man...  
  
  
And needless to say, the Lestrange heir’s already been born. Rodolphus Lestrange, a brat who’s already manifesting sprouts of accidental magic at age one. The little pest knocked me out with a bloody Stupefy just yesterday, bloody unbelievable! The Lestranges will give parenthood another go in a few years, it seems. This pleased the Dark Lord to no end, much to nobody’s surprise. More conditioned children equate to devoted followers, more mindless puppets who’ll heed his orders and predicaments without a second thought. Absolutely revolting...  
  
  
As for the Black matrimony... well, their situation’s quite complicated— and downright hilarious. I’ve always known that family’s a bloody mess, but damn me if they haven’t outdone themselves this time. Sirius Orion Black (the heir) was disowned, Regulus Arcturus Black died a few weeks ago for committing treason (I believe he tried to steal something precious to the Dark Lord and was killed in the process), Alphard Black was burnt off the Black family tree posthumously— he died early in 1977 with no heirs to his name. Naturally, Orion and Walburga Black cannot sire children anymore. As for Cygnus and Druella Black... they haven’t been able to conceive an heir of their own just yet. Seems like all that inbreeding is finally catching up to them. Could this possibly be the end of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black?  
  
  
Hah, I’ll drink to that.  
  
  
Fortunately, our gracious Lord doesn’t expect me to bear any children— I’m his most trusted, after all. His best adviser and his precious lieutenant. His little ‘spy’ within the Order. Hah, this obviously irks Abraxas and Cygnus to no end, those blasted leeches... bested by a woman. Bested by goody-goody Keira Selwyn, of all people! Oh, how the mighty have fallen.  
  
  
The thought fills me with pride and misery.  
  
  
How did my life come to this?  
  
  
I’m losing my mind— I cannot keep up the act anymore. I... I’ve lost myself. I’m nothing but a pawn to the Dark Lord and Albus Dumbledore. This farce is killing me, tearing me apart limb by limb; but nobody seems to notice. Not succumbing to temptation is becoming more and more complicated. What if I’m actually becoming evil?  
  
  
I miss my old life... my school friends, my parents, my freedom... I miss my fiancé. My beloved Thomas, my doe-eyed Ravenclaw... how am I supposed to live without you, my love? Everything feels pointless without you by my side, Thomas. Horrid beyond return. I still cannot ~~believe~~ accept that you’re gone. We were going to run away, remember? To hide someplace safe, maybe live with your muggle parents for a couple of years, get married one day and have a little family of our own. Whatever happened to that?  
  
Shit, the Dark Lord’s calling us again— the Dark Mark is growing black and unbearably painful. Another meeting? No, impossible. Another muggle hunt? I cannot do this...  
  
  
Please give me strength, Thomas.  
  
  
  
_Beneath those heartrending words lay a much shorter message covered in dried blood.  
  
  
  
 _Ah, yes...  
  
  
Tom Riddle happened.  
  
  
And I’ll make him pay for what he’s done, even if it kills me.  
  
  
_  
“I hope you found your peace, Mrs Burgundy...” Hermione whispered sadly, caressing the tear-stained page with a sour expression. She had been reading entries at random for two solid hours now, soaking up knowledge about how Voldemort’s inner circle and the Order of the Phoenix worked back in the 70s and early 80s. Their schemes, their many hideouts, their escape routes, their reunions, His grand speeches —which were quite fascinating to read, not that Hermione would _ever_ admit that aloud— and the prophecy that foretold Voldemort’s fall from power. All that and _way_ more recorded in one single book.  
  
  
 _Fascinating, truly fascinating... hmm, seems like the next entry is about—  
_

  
Crookshanks Jr. purred happily and nudged her stomach with great fervour. “Alright, alright... enough tragedy and heartbreak for today,” she chuckled weakly, putting the diary aside. Her part-Kneazle never ceased to amaze her— he noticed her mood changes right away, regardless of how subtle and insignificant they were, and acted on them accordingly. Of course, this involved a lot of happy purring and nuzzling.  
  
  
Hermione smiled at him, scratching and stroking his back with utmost care. “You’re always taking care of me, aren’t you?” The part-Kneazle meowed and arched his back, his tail twirling in the air almost lazily. The heaviness within Hermione’s chest lessened somewhat. “Can I check these assignments now, Mr. Crookshanks?” she jested, reaching for the piled essays —the thirty-six of them, Hermione had waited until Friday night to check them all in one go— when Crookshanks Junior didn’t make a move.  
  
  
Chuckling softly to herself, Hermione examined the assignments with a critical eye. Most of them were surprisingly well redacted, featuring information from both _A Guide to Advanced Transfiguration_ and _Transfiguration Today._ The occasional mistakes and incoherences made her smile fondly because, deep down, nothing had really changed. She was still that brainiac with an inexplicable love for Tranguration who checked essays at night and made annotations on other people’s parchments more often than not. The familiarity of it made her feel at home.  
  
  
Happiness bubbled in her chest, warming her entire body quite pleasantly.  
  
  
Eventually, Hermione grabbed Black’s assignment. _Nearly four pages long,_ thought Hermione with an amused smile, still not understanding how the Slytherin had written the essay on time. _Not bad at all, I’ll admit...  
  
  
  
Essay on Human Transfiguration, by Bellatrix Black_

_  
Human Transfiguration is a sub-branch of Transfiguration and a form of transformation in which one transfigures either specific body parts or an entire human being into another form. It is possible that this type of Transfiguration was created or mastered by a powerful non-Metamorphmagus wizard or witch who wanted to replicate the effects of a Polyjuice Potion and the natural abilities of Metamorphmagi, though this is merely speculation._

_  
This category houses the following types of Transformation magic: Animagus (a wizard or witch that elects go turn into an animal, oftentimes one that represents them on a spiritual level), Metamorphmagus (those born with the extremely rare ability to change their physical appearance through sheer will alone), and werewolves (creatures that transform involuntarily into lycanthropes due to infection or contamination of their blood)._

_  
Human Transfiguration allows the practitioner (or subject) to take on an entirely different form or make various individual changes to their appearance, such as sporadically growing or changing the colour, style or pattern of one’s hair (using the Crinus Muto spell) or taking on individual animal body parts. Evidently, one can use Human Transfiguration to turn someone into an animal— for instance, during the 1600s, Thaddeus Thurkell had seven sons, all of whom were Squibs. Thurkell was so angry that he transfigured them all into hedgehogs. Needless to say, complete transfiguration into an animal makes the human think like said animal, except for Animagus transfigurations._

  
Hermione stopped reading abruptly, eyeing the parchment with a scowl. Crookshanks Junior meowed softly, sounding confused and worried, but Hermione paid him no mind this time. There was something… oddly familiar about the assignment— the elegant scrawl rang a bell, but Hermione was unsure why.

_  
Although it is entirely possible to transfigure humans into inanimate objects, it is still unknown how someone who has initially transfigured themselves into an object would be able to untransfigure without the intervention of another witch or wizard. Furthermore, according to W.O.M.B.A.T., it may not be possible to Untransfigure a person or object without knowing what they originally were. This is why the Death Eaters and the Order of the Phoenix used this tactic throughout the First Wizarding War during espionage and infiltration missions. Only a Revelio Charm and a Reparifarge would bring them back to normal, which wasn’t all that frequently used back then. This method was actually used by the group of Death Eaters that tortured Alice and Frank Longbottom into mindless insanity shortly after You-Know-Who’s first fall from power. They used Human Transfiguration, broke into the Aurors’ house and ambushed the couple._

  
  
“Wait a moment—” Hermione said softly, eyes widening in surprise. “I’ve read this in _The Forgotten Tales of Burgundy_ just now...”

  
Rather frantically, Hermione grabbed the journal and opened it once more.  
  
  
“ _November 1st... November 1st..._ ” Hermione mumbled absentmindedly, flipping through the pages with shaky hands. “Ah, here! _The Dark Lord’s finally fallen,_ ” she read in a hushed whisper, skipping paragraph after paragraph until she found what she was looking for. “ _Death Eaters are going into hiding. I can finally live in peace again... Cygnus Black, the Lestrange brothers and Barty Crouch Jr. used Human Transfiguration to break into the Longbottom’s household. They tortured the couple for information regarding the Dark Lord’s whereabouts and used the Cruciatus Curse on them for hours on end. We arrived before they could harm the infant..._ ”

  
Hermione blinked a couple of times, looking back and forth between Black’s assignment and Burgundy’s diary. “No other book explains _how_ they broke into the house... they just— briefly talk about what happened to Neville’s parents before going into full detail about the Death Eaters’ trial and sentence. The only book that features such information is this one, so how does—” 

  
Realisation hit her like a freight truck.

  
Giddy with nervousness, Hermione flipped through the pages again until she found the nondescript that had come with the journal.  
  


  
 _  
_  
  
Hermione placed the note beside the assignment, compared the handwriting for some seconds and laughed incredulously. _It was so damn obvious!_ The scrawl was exactly the same— clean, tidy and easy on the eyes.  
  
 **_  
“We honestly didn’t know what to get you— I had to swallow my pride and ask for help. Me! Can you believe it?”_ **

**_  
“I— very interesting choice,” chuckled Hermione dryly, caressing the worn-out cover. Her fingertips tingled, shivers running down her spine. Her heart writhed in sympathy for the dead woman. “Where did you get it?”_ **

**_  
Sirius shrugged one shoulder. “I have my ways.”_ **

  
  
“I should have known. It was so obvious,” she whispered, still a bit flabbergasted. Her golden eyes met Crookshanks Junior’s heterochromatic ones, intrigued and worried at the same time. “Do you know what this means, Crooks?” she asked her familiar, scooping him up in her arms and smiling wryly at him.

  
The part-Kneazle meowed, tilting his head to the right.

  
“Exactly,” chuckled Hermione. “I’ve finally made up my mind.”

_  
It’s time to get some answers._


	11. XI: Seeking glory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy ;)
> 
> Again, Merry Christmas~

“Bloody hell. You look like shit,” said Sirius as greeting. “What’s wrong? Did Peevesy prank you again?”  
  
  
Hermione huffed and shot him a dirty look. “You pranksters have a one-track mind. Always thinking about mischief!” she retaliated, reaching for her calyx with a frown.  
  
  
Holding his hands up good-naturedly, Sirius laughed. “Darn, what’s got your knickers in a twist today?” Probably sensing another death glare, Sirius sighed and sat down next to her. “Now really, what’s wrong? Did something happen?”  
  
  
“It’s just— ugh, I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you...” Hermione groaned, shaking her head. “This is gonna sound _so_ stupid...”

  
“Nothing’s stupid if you try hard enough!” interjected Sirius proudly, grabbing a few bread rolls with a broad smirk. “Go on...”

  
Hermione rolled her eyes, her mouth curving into a small smile. “That’s not how it works,” she laughed weakly. “Well... I’ve been trying to talk with your cousin... with Bellatrix.” Sirius’ eyebrows practically disappeared into his hairline. “But she’s been avoiding me for a month. An entire month. It’s getting so frustrating!”

 _  
November 10th and I still haven’t gotten the chance to speak with her,_ she mused miserably before taking a few sips of her coffee. _Professor McGonagall said she’s stubborn and hard to approach, but this is getting ridiculous! Did I really offend her that much?_  
  
 _  
_Sirius blinked a couple of times, his mouth agape. “You... trying to talk with Trixie?” he parroted in disbelief. “For an entire month... I— whatever for?”

  
“I just—”  
  
  
Chewing on her bottom lip, Hermione glanced at the Slytherin table.   
  
  
Bellatrix Black stood between Oliver Avery and Felix Rosier, clad in her Quidditch robes and smirking. Both boys towered over her, but her confidence made her seem larger than life itself. Her unruly mane of curls was gathered up in a messy ponytail; a pair of goggles rested atop her head. By the looks of it, the witch was giving her team a motivational — _maybe?—_ speech before the long-awaited Slytherin versus Gryffindor match.   
  
  
“I want answers, Sirius... I need to understand.”  
  
  
“Understand what, ‘Mione?” Sirius questioned, patting her shoulder reassuringly.  
  
  
Hermione sighed and looked at her shaky hands. “That’s the problem! I don’t know. There are so many things I don’t understand. Too many questions. I’ve been trying to speak with her for a month, but she—”  
  
  
“—she’s been avoiding you,” finished Sirius helpfully, almost thoughtfully. “That’s very weird. Trixie doesn’t avoid people... that’s just not her thing.”  
  
  
She shrugged, feeling frustrated and discouraged... and highly insulted. _Why me?_ “Well— looks like I’m the only exception to that rule, eh? Lucky me.”  
  
  
Sirius hummed, scratching his chin in thought. “No, that’s not it. Trixie’s been busy with Quidditch and her studies. Drommie and Cissa have complained about her absence more than once,” he said absentmindedly. “If you really wanna talk with her—”  
  
  
Hermione perked up and looked at Sirius with a hopeful expression.  
  
  
“—you can always go to the Prefects’ Bathroom later today,” continued Sirius. “Round midnight, give or take. Trixie always takes a bath there after a Quidditch match.”  
  
  
All of a sudden, the spacious Great Hall felt stuffy and unbearably warm.   
  
  
Her cheeks turned a vibrant shade of pink, though she couldn’t understand why.  
  
  
“Around midnight, you say?” Hermione asked hoarsely. “Is she a Prefect?”  
  
  
“You didn’t know?” Sirius replied, chuckling a bit. “I mean, I can see why. Her hair covers the badge all the bloody time. And she definitely doesn’t act like one most of the time.”  
  
  
“Isn’t there another place I could... you know?” Hermione questioned before licking her lips nervously.   
  
  
Sirius shrugged, devouring a bread roll in two bites. “Nope, not really. If you wanna talk with her today, that’s the only place you’ll find her at. The Slytherin team tends to disappear after a match... depending on the game result, they either celebrate or sulk in the Common Room for _hours_. They even sneak alcohol into Hogwarts an’ all, the cunning bastards.”  
  
  
Nodding dumbly, Hermione took another sip of her coffee.  
  
  
The hot beverage did wonders to her dry throat and trembling body. Novembers in Scottland were as cold and unforgiving as she’d remembered them, if not even more. The harsh weather was already getting to her, there was no other explanation as to why she felt like that.  
  
  
Her mind wandered, going over Sirius’ words time and time again.   
  
  
A shiver ran down her spine.  
  
  
 _There’s no other option, it seems... God, going to the Prefects’ Bathroom around midnight to talk with Bellatrix Black sounds very...  
_  
  
“Oh, forgot to tell you!” Sirius suddenly said, snapping his fingers. “Harry and Ginny are here. I invited them to the match.”  
  
  
Needless to say, Hermione choked on her coffee.

* * *

  
  


“HERMIONE!”

  
A certain someone hugged — _correction: energetically collided with—_ the distracted brunette from behind, knocking the wind out of her for a moment.  
  
  
“Ginny!” Hermione squeaked, laughing. Once again, her heart thrummed with joy and warmth. “How are you, Gin?”   
  
  
“Happy now that I’m here.”  
  
  
Harry appeared behind his girlfriend, smiling brightly at Hermione. “Hello there,” he said. “How’s life treating you, ‘Mione?”

  
She ruffled his messy hair. “I’m doing much better,” she answered honestly, “and it’s all thanks to you. Thanks for the advice, Harry... I really needed it.”  
  
  
Sirius made his grand entrance then, eyes alit with mischief and amusement. “Here’s Padfoot! Hope you saved me a seat,” he said light-heartedly, smirking at the three young adults.  
  
  
“Hello, Sirius!” Ginny greeted, letting go of Hermione and sitting down on the grandstand. “Is that a Slytherin flag?”  
  
  
Shrugging nonchalantly, Sirius waved the flags he was holding— Gryffindor and Slytherin. “Why yes,” he replied, taking a seat next to Ginny and eyeing the Quidditch field. “My heart belongs to Gryffindor, but I always cheer for my cousin.”

  
 _Makes_ _sense,_ thought Hermione with a small smile. _The pitch’s still empty, but not for long...  
  
  
_ “Oi, ‘Mione! Where are yours?” Sirius questioned, smirking cheekily.  
  


She frowned.   
  
  
“What are you talking about?” He waved both flags again. “Are you serious— don’t you even dare!” Everyone laughed at Sirius’ offended expression. “I cannot wave a Slytherin flag around, Sirius.”

  
He raised an eyebrow. “Why not? Wait, let me guess... because you’re the Head of Gryffindor,” he said mockingly, rolling the last _‘r’_ with a smirk.

  
“Exactly!”

  
Sirius sighed and rolled his eyes dramatically. “Hermione, nobody’s gonna judge you if—” the young Gryffindors looked pointedly at him. “Alright, maybe just a little...”  
  
  
The remainder of Sirius’ snarky reply went unheard, muffled by the crowd’s ecstatic cheers. Soon enough, the Gryffindor team was soaring through the skies and making outstanding acrobatics that made everyone gasp.  
  


“Those are Firebolt broomsticks, aren’t they?” Ginny exclaimed, her mouth curving into a wide smile. “Sweet! The team’s _finally_ gotten an upgrade! GO GRYFFINDOR, GO.”

  
Shortly after, the Slytherin team entered the field and broke through the Gryffindors’ formation effortlessly.  
  
  
Hermione’s heart pounded in her chest as her eyes searched for their captain.  
  
  


  
  
“Are those Firebolt Supreme brooms!?” Harry asked, gripping his binoculars more firmly. “That’s so unfair— GO GRYFFINDOR, GO!”  
  


“HELLO AND WELCOME TO HOGWARTS’ FIRST QUIDDITCH GAME OF THE SEASON!” Ariana Riggs stated, making the whole crowd cheer even louder. “TODAY’S GAME, SLYTHERIN VERSUS GRYFFINDOR!”

  
Hermione smiled, watching how the students gathered round in a circle at the centre of the pitch. Almost involuntarily, her eyes landed upon the witch hovering over the Slytherin players.  
  
  
“The players take their positions as Madam Hooch steps out onto the field to begin the game!” Riggs narrated eagerly, bouncing a bit.  
  
  
“Now... l want a nice, clean game from _all_ of you,” Harry and Ginny quoted at the same time, sharing knowing smiles and chuckling together.  
  


_Jinx._

  
After saying her part, Madam Hooch kicked the trunk and freed the balls.   
  
  
“The Bludgers are up, followed by the Golden Snitch,” said Riggs. “Remember, the Snitch is worth 150 points. The Seeker who catches the Snitch ends the game.”  
  
  
Madam Hooch grabbed the Quaffle and threw it.   
  
  
Everyone in the stands leaned forward expectantly, anxiousness and excitement mingling in the air.

  
“The Quaffle is released and the game begins!”

  
Felix Rosier caught the Quaffle and zoomed towards the Gryffindor goals at an astonishing speed. Dodging player after player, Bludger after Bludger, the blond boy headed approached the goals and—  
  
  
The bell rang.  
  
  
The crowd cheered and booed.  
  
  
Rosier flew towards Black and gave her a high five.

  
“FELIX ROSIER SCORES TEN POINTS FOR SLYTHERIN,” Riggs commented, clearly getting more and more excited with each passing moment.   
  
  
_No snide comment?_ Hermione wondered silently. _Huh, looks like McGonagall’s finally found an unbiased commentator.  
  
  
_ Ginny huffed, following the Quaffle like a hawk. Like the professional Chaser she was. “Looks like Slytherin’s finally gathered a competent team. Back in seventh grade, their Chasers had no talent whatsoever. Their Seeker, however, was a bloody nightmare.”  
  


Laughing, Sirius waved both flags. “Yeah! Trixie’s a very demanding captain, no wonder they’re actually good.”  
  
  
“Trixie?” Harry asked quietly, glancing at his godfather with a small smile. “That rings a bell.”

  
“Number seven, the Seeker! That’s my cousin,” Sirius explained proudly whilst nodding at the unmoving Slytherin, whose legs were dangling over the air idly. “She hates it when I call her that, you see!”

  
Gobsmacked, Ginny laughed and looked at Sirius. “Are you bloody kidding me? That nightmare of a Seeker is your cousin? Merlin’s hairy balls...”  
  
  
“VINCENT VANE STOPS THE QUAFFLE— GIVES IT TO EVAN MCLAGGEN!” Harry and Ginny gagged audibly, which made Hermione stifle a giggle. “MCLAGGEN’S HIT BY A BLUDGER, COURTESY OF OLIVER AVERY— HE’S STRUGGLING TO GET BACK UP— FELIX ROSIER GRABS THE QUAFFLE AGAIN!”

  
The stands cheered with even greater fervour, observing the chaos eagerly.   
  
  
Hermione looked at the Seekers, who had yet to move.   
  
  
“AND GRYFFINDOR REGAINS POSSESSION OF THE QUAFFLE— JASON ALIXAN SPEEDS TOWARDS THE SLYTHERIN GOALS AND— SCORE! TEN TO TEN!”  
  


Three-quarters of the crowd cheered. 

_  
Some things never change,_ thought Hermione with a guilty smile. _I almost feel bad for the Slytherin team. They could use some more supporters...  
  
_  
“ASTRA WINDSOR STEALS THE QUAFFLE AND SPEEDS TOWARDS THE GRYFFINDOR GOALS— AND IT LOOKS LIKE CAPTAIN BELLATRIX BLACK’S SPOTTED THE SNITCH!” Riggs exclaimed fervently, adding another ten points to Slytherin when Windsor scored. “MIKE APPLEBY FOLLOWS HER CLOSE.” _  
_

  
Hermione gawked at the Slytherin captain, whose mastery of the broomstick was simply _breathtaking._ Black soared through the skies at speeds unknown, dodging Bludgers and players alike with great expertise and without much effort. She tracked the Snitch’s movements easily, anticipating almost every twitch and turn.  
  
  
“See? A bloody nightmare,” Ginny laughed. “This Appleby dude cannot overtake her!”  
  
  
Sirius stood up abruptly. “YES! GO TRIXIE, GO!”  
  


“BOTH BLUDGERS ARE FLYING TOWARDS THE SEEKERS!” Everyone held their breaths, watching those two closely. “AVERY AND CAPTAIN KATIE ALCHIN STOP THEM— BUT ONE HITS SOPHIA PRICKETT IN THE BACK— THE GRYFFINDOR CHASER ALMOST FALLS OFF HER BROOM, BUT SHE REGAINS CONTROL OVER IT.”

  
Hermione gasped in horror, watching the Gryffindor girl climb up her broomstick with some mild difficulty. Her nearby teammates nodded at her, to which she flashed a thumbs-up in return.  
  
  
“C’MON, C’MON!” Harry and Ginny cheered, following the Quaffle’s movements almost anxiously. Seconds later, Gryffindor scored again and the stands roared victoriously.  
  
  
 _Ah, I’ve lost track of the score._  
  
  
“UH-OH, LOOKS LIKE THE SEEKERS’VE LOST SIGHT OF THE SNITCH,” Riggs exclaimed, drawing everyone’s attention to the Seekers. They were flying in opposite directions. “BLACK STOPS MID-AIR AND STARTS BARKING ORDERS AT HER TEAM— Merlin, I wish she ordered me around...”

  
Hermione frowned.

  
“MISS RIGGS!” 

  
“Apologies, Headmistress!” the Hufflepuff muttered, clearly flustered, as everyone in the stands laughed for a moment before focusing on the game again.  
  


Sirius snickered. “Looks like Trixie’s got a fan club,” he jested with a shit-eating grin, turning around. “That girl’s got the hots for my cousin for two or three years now.”  
  
  
Ginny chimed in, always the sucker for gossip. “Is that so? Has anything juicy happened between the two? Spill the beans, Sirius.”

  
He laughed loudly, but the sound was muffled by another round of cheers and booes.   
  
  
Slytherin had scored again.  
  
  
“Oi, that’s my cousin you’re talking about!” exclaimed Sirius in mocked outrage. “Watch your tongue!”  
  
  
Hermione clenched her hands, staring at the Slytherin Seeker with a blank expression. Deep down, she felt... uneasy. _What’s happening? Why do I feel like this?_

  
“So...” Ginny prompted, nudging Sirius’ side. “Anything interesting happened?”  
  
  
Sirius shook his head and chuckled. “Nothing’s happened— Trixie turned her down in fifth year during a post-O.W.L. celebration party, but they’re cordial to each other!”  
  


Relief washed over Hermione’s uneasiness.  
  
  
 _Why...?_

  
“BOTH SEEKERS PULL INTO A DIVE,” Riggs commented all of a sudden, bringing Hermione back to the here and now. “APPLEBY ELBOWS BLACK— BLACK KICKS APPLEBY.”  
  
  
The two Seekers were flying towards the Gryffindor stands, trying to shove each other off their brooms and gain the upper hand.  
  
  
Another ring, another round of cheers and jeers, another ten points to Slytherin.  
  
  
Hermione glanced at the scoreboard— fifty to sixty.   
  
  
“They’re gonna run smack into the students!” Harry gasped, standing up from his seat. “OI, CAREFUL!”  
  
  
“AND BLACK SPEEDS UP— LEANS FORWARD—” the Gryffindor students screamed, parting like the Red Sea for the Moses-like Slytherin Seeker. “BLACK’S FLYING UPWARDS— SPINS AROUND— wait, what’s that in her hand?” Riggs questioned as Hermione smiled broadly, her heart thrumming between her ears. “THE GOLDEN SNITCH! BLACK’S CAUGHT THE SNITCH! 150 POINTS TO SLYTHERIN— AND SLYTHERIN WINS THE MATCH, 200 TO 60. THIS CONCLUDES THE FIRST MATCH OF THE SEASON.”  
  


Everyone in the Slytherin stands —and some Hufflepuffs— cheered, jumping up and down whilst waving their flags enthusiastically. Hermione chuckled and looked for Black’s sisters with her binoculars. The youngest sister was smirking slightly and ignoring Lucius Malfoy’s joyful gesticulations, refusing to participate in the cheering actively. The middle sister giggled with someone — _wait, is that Ted Tonks?—_ and waved at Black with a wide smile, leaning against the Hufflepuff boy.

  
“Darn... you weren’t kidding, Gin. She’s really good!”

  
Sirius patted Harry’s arm and smiled proudly at him. “Looks like talent runs in the family, aye?”

  
“Minerva, you owe me ten galleons!” Horace Slughorn exclaimed behind them, running after the retreating Headmistress. “MINERVA, COME BACK!”

  
The four snickered, following the Potions Master downstairs.

  
Hermione turned around, glancing at the Quidditch pitch longingly for a moment, before going after her friends with a small smile.

  
  


* * *

  
  
And true to Sirius’ word, the Slytherin team had vanished into thin air right after the Quidditch match. However, much to Hermione’s blatant surprise, _none_ of them had shown up for dinner. This had worried her greatly, but Sirius had been quick to reassure her. 

  
“You worry too much, ‘Mione!” Sirius had laughed, flashing a knowing smirk at Andromeda and Narcissa. “They’re probably as drunk as a skunk or dealing with a nasty hangover, it’s whatever. I wouldn’t put it past them. Believe me, those brats sure know how to throw a party.”  
  
  
That, obviously, had worried Hermione even further. Dealing with a drunk —or hangover— Black wasn’t on her agenda, please and thank you.   
  
  
When the clock struck midnight, she left her quarters and headed towards the Prefects’ Bathroom.  
  
  
 _Don’t be drunk, please..._ Hermione thought desperately. Her knees trembled, threatening to give in at any given moment. _Please, please, please... don’t be drunk... please..._

 _  
_Her heart thrummed violently, pumping adrenaline and anxiousness alike into her veins. Her breathing grew heavier with each passing moment and her mind— the Prefects’ Bathroom door swung open, a certain raven-haired student striding out of the room.

  
Hermione thought about running away. Turning herself into a small animal and fleeing the scene unseen and unheard would certainly do the trick, but she gathered all of her Gryffindor courage and pushed those thoughts aside. She stepped out of the shadows and approached the student.

  
“Miss Black.”  
  
  
Hissing a quiet _‘shit!’_ through gritted teeth, Black turned around hastily. “Professor Granger,” the student greeted, quickly regaining her composure. “What brings you here?”

  
 _Doesn’t look drunk to me... thank God.  
  
  
_ “Oh, just doing some rounds before calling it a day,” lied Hermione nervously, shrugging one shoulder. “What are you doing here? It’s past curfew.”

  
With a snort of amusement, the Slytherin girl brushed her hair aside. Her curls bounced up and down, darker than darkness itself, catching Hermione’s eye momentarily. “Well— as you can see,” said Black, pointing at her Prefect badge with a flourish. _Shit, I forgot about that!_ _Why do I keep fucking up when I’m around her?_ “I am actually allowed to be out and around at night.”

  
“I-I see...” 

  
Nodding sharply, Black turned around and started walking away. “Goodnight, Professor Gr—”

 _  
Not again!  
  
  
_ “Wait, please!” Hermione exclaimed desperately. Her voice echoed throughout the empty hallway, too loud for comfort. Black halted but didn’t turn around. “I wanted to talk with you.”

  
A thoughtful hum followed. “Is that so?” Black questioned, tilting her head to the left ever so slightly. “Whatever for, professor?”  
  
  
Hermione licked her lips and took a step forward. “Do you remember our conversation in the Hospital Wing?” Black remained silent. “When I asked you— you know... when I asked _that_... you said, and I quote, _for the same reason as you, Professor Granger._ ”

  
Black nodded, turning around gradually. “Indeed. That’s exactly what I said. What about it?”  
  
  
 _C’mon, you’re a Gryffindor for a reason!_ thought Hermione upon meeting Black’s unreadable gaze. “I do not fear you.”

 _  
_Even though her face remained impassive, Black’s silver eyes widened a tad. They shimmered with surprise, intrigue and something not dissimilar to disbelief— _disbelief!_

  
Taking one step forward with calculated slowness, Black smirked broadly.   
  
  
Hermione straightened her back almost defensively.   
  
  
“Really now...?” she drawled, raising an eyebrow. “You could’ve almost fo—”  
  


“It’s true,” Hermione interjected, determination and certainty dripping from her oddly calm voice. Black’s smirk fell right off her face. “I do not fear you, Miss Black.”

  
“You don’t fear me,” repeated Black blankly. “Alright... what do I care?”  
  
  
“I think you do care,” replied Hermione, rummaging blindly through her beaded handbag with a thoughtful expression. After a few seconds, her fingers collided with a worn-out leather cover. “Do you recognise this?” she asked, pulling out the old-looking book. “ _The Forgotten Tales of Burgundy._ Does it sound familiar, Miss Black?” 

  
Without looking at the journal, Black nodded. “It was mine.”

  
Golden eyes met silver ones.

  
“Why?”  
  
  
“Siri asked me for help. Didn’t know what to get you,” said Black nonchalantly, shrugging. “As I said, I thought you’d like it.”

  
Hermione took another step forward, lowering the book a bit. From this distance, she could smell Black— sandalwood and cinnamon overwhelmed her senses pleasantly. Her eyelids nearly dropped shut for a moment, but she stopped herself on time. “So you’ve said— why?”

  
Black exhaled slowly through her nose, her face still impassive. “When you talk about your adventures in the Great Hall,” said Black softly, scratching her left arm in thought. “Everyone asks about those golden boys. Nobody ever questions your involvement in their heroic schemes. They know you were involved, but they don’t wish to know how or why. That hurts you.”

  
“How do you—”

  
“I pay attention,” snorted Black, waving a dismissive hand.  
  
  
Hermione’s cheeks tinged pink again. _Because you’re intrigued by my achievements. Because you’re intrigued... by me, am I right? That’s why you listen to me. Because you wish to know... to understand, maybe?  
  
  
_ She cleared her throat. “In any case, I thought you’d be able to relate with a few things Mrs Burgundy wrote in that journal. Am I wrong?”   
  


“No.”

  
“Good.”  
  
  
“I— thank you...” she said, placing the book inside the beaded handbag again. “How did you get this book?”

  
Black shrugged, eyeing her nails with newfound interest. “Dumbledore gave it to me back in first year. Said something about me having great potential buried deep within me. Gave me the journal and said I’d probably find it... _enlightening._ ”

  
 _Why am I not surprised?  
  
  
_ “I see,” Hermione mumbled uncertainly. After a pause, she smiled softly at her student. “I really mean it. I don’t fear you— I actually want to...”   
  
  
Raising one eyebrow, Black looked at her almost expectantly. “Yes...?”  
  
  
 _Here goes nothing._  
  
  
“I want to get to know you,” Hermione blurted out, feeling her cheeks growing hotter by the second. “You already know so much about me, but I barely know a thing about you.”  
  
  
Black looked positively taken aback.  
  
  
“There’s not much to know.”

  
Hermione shook her head. “I’m sure there is.”

  
Were her eyes deceiving her? Was Black _blushing_ _?_  
  
  
 _No, I must be imagining things... a trick of the light, probably.  
  
  
_ “Alright...” mumbled Black, turning around. “I should head back to my Common Room.”

  
Hermione nodded, beaming at her student. “Oh, before you go!” she suddenly exclaimed, stopping Black dead in her tracks again. The Slytherin turned around and looked at her with thinly veiled intrigue. “Your flying skills are spectacular. That match was a sight to behold. Congratulations on winning the game, you did great.”

  
Black blinked a couple of times.  
  
  
And this time, there was no denying that her pale cheeks turned _pink_ as her lips curved into a small smile.  
  
  
“Thank you, professor. See you around.”

  
Warmth bubbled in Hermione’s chest, her grin growing impossibly bright and wide.  
  
  
“Goodnight, Miss Black.”


	12. XII: Late night devil.

“What about the Mudblood, then?”  
  
  
Harry was _nearly_ thrown off his feet as the Snatchers forced them to swivel around again so that the light fell on Hermione instead. A pang of dread coursed through her shivering body. Unlike Harry, Hermione was far too recognisable.   
  
  
Everyone’s eyes were on her.  
  
  
“Wait,” Henrietta Malfoy said sharply, examining her almost frantically. “Yes— yes, she was in Madam Malkin’s with Potter! I saw her picture in the _Prophet!_ Look, Draco, isn’t this the Granger girl?”  
  
  
Much to Hermione’s surprise, Draco did not look her way. “I... maybe... yeah.”  
  
  
“But then... that’s the Weasley boy!” Abraxas Malfoy exclaimed, striding around the bound prisoners to face Ron. His eerie grin grew ten times wider, a hundred times darker. “It’s them— Potter’s friends! Draco, look at him! Isn’t this Arthur Weasley’s son? What’s his name—?”  
  
  
“Yeah,” said Draco again, his back to the prisoners. His body was trembling lightly, Hermione realised. “It could be.”  
  
  
The drawing-room’s door opened behind them, shattering the tense atmosphere for a moment. Someone entered the place, their footsteps powerful and deafening. A man spoke, his voice low and velvety, wounding Hermione’s fear to an even higher pitch somehow. “What is this?” the man who had tortured Neville’s parents into mindless insanity, who had nearly killed Sirius at the Department of Mysteries; questioned light-heartedly. “What is going here, Abraxas?”  
  
  
Cygnus Black III sauntered around the prisoners, examining them with detached eyes. He suddenly stopped at Harry’s right, staring at Hermione with raised eyebrows and an intrigued look on his face. Frantically, she shielded her mind— according to her more than extensive research, the man was a gifted Legilimens.  
  
  
“But surely...” he said quietly, making Hermione quiver in her boots. His mouth twitched up, his thin lips curving into a sickeningly sweet smirk. “This is the brains behind Potter’s _heroic_ deeds, the so-called _Brightest Witch of Her Age?_ ” he drawled, venom dripping from his voice. “This is the Mudblood? This is Granger?”  
  
  
“Yes, yes, it’s Granger!” Abraxas cried out, approaching the other wizard with an ecstatic smile. He looked feral, beyond deranged. Cygnus, on the other hand, looked awfully calm. Frighteningly so. “Draco isn’t quite sure— but it _has_ to be her.”  
  


The raven-haired man hummed, taking his friend’s words into consideration. Amused, he cracked a charming smile. “Not quite sure, hm?” he contemplated quietly, eyeing the door behind their prisoners with newfound interest. “If that’s the case... Bellatrix, come here!” Hermione blanched even further upon hearing the not-so-unfamiliar name, her stomach churning unpleasantly. Someone walked past Hermione; a sea of black skirts entered her field of vision. _Shit, shit, shit!_ “My dear, Rodolphus said you spend most of your time at the library— surely, you must have seen the filthy Mudblood around there, yes?”  
  


Cygnus grabbed his daughter’s shoulders, his fingers digging deep into her flesh, then turned her around without any decorum. Her black curls swayed back and forth for a second or two, seemingly absorbing all of the chandelier’s dim light. Hermione could feel the girl’s eyes on her, boring holes into her very soul. 

  
“Tell me, my dear... is this _the_ Mudblood?”   
  
  
Hermione looked up, absolutely frightened.   
  
  
When those silver eyes —still unreadable and impassive, though somewhat tired— met her golden ones, Hermione swallowed hard. An unpleasant shiver rushed down her spine, but she refused to break for the time being. To show any sign of weakness, of fear— that would certainly give her away.

 _  
I know you know—_ _please, don’t do this._

  
Then, recognition flickered within Bellatrix’s silver orbs.

  
Bellatrix raised her eyebrows, her mouth curving into a suave smirk, and moved forward with slow and calculated steps... like a predator approaching its defenceless prey.  
  
  
With each and every step, the young witch changed a tad— her black curls grew longer, her silver eyes turned wise and cunning, a few scars appeared across her face, her cheekbones became pronounced and sharp, her rosy lips grew a bit fuller, her nondescript black clothes morphed into the Slytherin uniform.   
  
  
Chuckling dangerously low, Bellatrix leaned forward and breathed hotly against Hermione’s ear. This time, instead of sandalwood and pine, she smelled like fire and blood.  
  
  
Hermione shivered viciously, getting goosebumps all over her skin.  
  
  
“Hello, professor.”  
  
  
With a strained scream, Hermione fell out of bed. The soft covers cushioned her fall and protected her from the ice-cold floor, but Hermione struggled against them frantically, still torn between dreams and reality. Her breathing was fast and shallow, almost deafening in the quietness of the small room.  
  
  
Golden eyes flew wide open, panicked and bloodshot. 

  
“Where—” she mumbled, disorientated.  
  
  
Crookshanks Jr. meowed worriedly and nuzzled her tear-stained cheeks with great fervour.   
  
  
Hermione frowned, heart still thundering violently. “I... Crookshanks?”   
  
  
The part-Kneazle merely meowed again and nudged her neck. Seconds later, he purred softly against her pulse point nuzzling it.   
  
  
She swallowed hard, eyeing her surroundings warily. _Stone walls and birch floor. An oak desk, an elm chair. Carmine covers, red banners. A mahogany closet, an old trunk. A large window, a sleeping brown owl— Athena. A small nightstand, my wand..._ Breathing out a relieved sigh, she closed her eyes and rubbed her pounding temples. _Just a nightmare... it was just a nightmare..._

  
Eventually, Hermione sat up and reached for her wand with clammy hands. Her magic hummed contentedly upon touching it, the vine wood so familiar and soothing. 

  
_“Tempus,”_ she whispered hoarsely, drawing a circle. A white light emanated from the tip of her wand, taking an ethereal clock-like shape. 2:38 in the morning, it indicated before vanishing into thin air. Hermione groaned and leant against the mattress, burying her face in her hands.   
  
  
_God, what a nightmare... why did— I don’t get it— why?  
  
_  
“Well, that was...”  
  
  
Crookshanks Jr. interrupted her with a loud meow, pawing her ankles repeatedly.   
  
  
Smiling weakly, Hermione scooped him up and petted him lovingly. “Thank you, Crooks... I’m sorry I woke you up.” The kitten purred contentedly, his heterochromatic eyes fluttering shut under her caresses. _Of course, purring releases endorphins in cats, and it can do the same thing in humans as well. That’s why he makes me feel better._ “What would I do without you, hm?”  
  
  
Hermione sighed and looked around with a pained grimace. Her quarters, while lovely, were small— the narrowness made her anxious and sent mixed signals to her brain. _Warm, safe, no place to hide, cosy, perfect for an ambush..._ Her heart longed for the library, filled to the brim with books and space.   
  
  
With that in mind, Hermione lowered Crookshanks Jr. onto the bed and walked towards her mahogany closet like a woman on a mission. Pulling out a fluffy jumper —the one Molly had knitted for her four years ago— and some thick socks, Hermione changed clothes quickly. Then, she grabbed a cloak and a pair of brown boots. Should she feel cold, she could always use a warming charm on herself.   
  
  
She glanced at Crookshanks Jr. one last time and smiled tenderly. The part-Kneazle was fast asleep on her pillow.  
  
  
 _Well, at least one of us can sleep unburdened.  
  
  
_ “I’ll be back soon,” whispered Hermione, pushing the door open carefully. “In an hour or two, maybe. Goodnight, Crooks.”  
  
  
Upon exiting her quarters, her teeth started chattering as her body shuddered aggressively. She pulled her cloak closer, grasping its warm fabric for dear life. As expected, late November’s freezing air was ruthless, but its night breeze was downright deadly. Part of her wondered how the Slytherins, who lived in the _dungeons_ , dealt with the nasty weather year after year.  
  
  
 _“Lumos.”  
  
  
_ Sauntering down the empty castle, Hermione smiled to herself. These hallways were filled with memories, both good and bad. Hermione desperately tried not to think about the ones— Death Eaters running left and right, blood covering the stone walls, curses and hexes flying around like there was no tomorrow, friends and enemies lying on the ground _everywhere_. No, Hermione always tried to think about the good memories— rebuilding the castle with her professors, walking through these hallways for the first time, sneaking out with Harry and Ron late at night, laughing with Ginny whilst heading to the Great Hall and back to the Common Room...   
  
  
In the end, the good memories overpowered the bad ones.  
  
  
For the most part.  
  
  
Soon enough, Hermione found herself striding into the library... and stopping abruptly near the entrance. For whatever reason, the Reference Section was illuminated by a warm yet dim light— a lamp, most likely. Intrigued, she headed toward the Reference Section cautiously. Upon spotting a certain raven-haired Slytherin sitting near the frosted window, her heart nearly came to a halt.   
  
  
The nightmare was still fresh in her mind, way too fresh for comfort; but she shoved it away and approached the distracted witch.  
  
  
Hermione felt nervous and giddy with excitement. They hadn’t talked that much since their heart-to-heart outside the Prefect’s Bathroom nearly two weeks ago; Black was always busy or accompanied. Thus, seeing her all alone felt oddly weird, but Hermione ignored that sensation and stepped forward.  
  
  
“Good evening.”

  
“I have permission to be here,” said Black without looking away from her book. “Rough night?”  
  
  
She raised an eyebrow and hummed affirmatively, taking a seat next to Black.   
  
  
The area around them was surprisingly warm. _Must be a_ _heating charm,_ she deduced as she took off her cloak. “And what are you doing here? It’s really late,” she inquired, glancing at the messy desk. There were scrolls and books _everywhere,_ some opened and others closed.  
  
  
Black hummed. “Research.”  
  
  
 _How informative...  
  
  
_ Rolling her eyes, Hermione examined the old tomes distractedly. She recognised most of them. _Ingredient Encyclopedia, Magical Waters Plants of the Highland Lochs, One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi, Updated Counter-Curse Handbook, Magick Most Evile_ and _Secrets of the Darkest Art—_ _hold up, she’s looking into Dark magic? What in the world’s going on_ _here?_

  
“Tell me something interesting.”  
  
  
Hermione frowned and looked at Black again. “I— pardon?”

  
“Tell me something interesting,” repeated Black matter-of-factly.   
  
  
She leaned against the backrest of her seat and hummed thoughtfully. “I... I once set a professor’s robes on fire.”

  
Black glanced up and chuckled, her laugh a rich and throaty sound that sent shivers rushing down Hermione’s spine. “No way. How— why?” There was a pause, a barely-there smirk. “Whose?”

  
“Not gonna ask when?”  
  
  
Rolling her eyes, Black closed her book gently. “Unimportant,” she answered as she reached for a green flask. “Coffee. Do you want some? It’s charmed so that it remains hot all night long.”

  
“Sure—” Black handed it to her with a little flourish. “W-Wait, don’t you have a cup or something?”   
  
  
“Nope,” she replied, her mouth curving into a smug smile. “Aren’t you the Transfiguration professor? Conjure one yourself.”  
  
  
 _She’s got a point...  
  
  
_ Hermione blushed and produced a red mug with a flick of her wand. She poured some coffee into the mug carefully and took a tentative sip. True to Black’s word, the coffee was deliciously hot— and ridiculously strong. _What’s this? Black coffee made with Robusta beans?  
  
  
_ “So...” Black said before taking a _large_ swing from the flask itself. “Tell me about the time you set a professor’s robes on fire.”

  
“I was in first year,” narrated Hermione with a nostalgic smile. “Quidditch day, the first game of the season. Gryffindor versus Slytherin— we won. Harry caught the Snitch,” she said, smirking a bit when Black huffed and rolled her eyes again. “But someone jinxed his broom at the beginning of the match. It tried to throw him off and worked on its own accord. I thought it was Professor Snape’s doing. I saw him with my binoculars, you see. He was staring at Harry’s broomstick fixedly and mouthing some incantations... I really thought it was him,” said Hermione with a touch of remorse. Sure, he’d been a rightful nightmare throughout their student years, but he’d been trying to save Harry back then. “I ran toward the professors’ grandstands and set his robes on fire to stop the incantation. Turns out it was Professor Quirrel the one jinxing Harry’s broomstick all along. Fortunately, the fire distracted him as well and broke the incantation off.”

  
Black hummed and raised her eyebrows, smirking. “You set _Professor_ _Snape’s_ robes on fire... in your first year.”

  
Hermione nodded.  
  
  
“Morgana’s tits,” Black laughed again. “I knew you were a rule-breaker, but my goodness... that’s impressive.”

  
“I— thanks,” Hermione whispered with a small smile, blushing a tad. “What about you? Tell me something interesting.”  
  
  
Golden eyes met silver ones, thoughtful and amused.  
  
  
 _Filled with warmth and life, unlike the ones from my nightmare. Honestly, I still don’t understand why... that... happened._

  
“Profesor Longbottom fainted when he first saw me,” she said, chuckling; after taking another sip of her coffee.

  
Hermione snorted, staring at Black in disbelief. “You’re kidding.”  
  
  
“I promise!” Black laughed, the sound resonating loudly throughout the library. Hermione flinched and looked back worriedly, afraid of getting caught in the library with a student so late at night. “Don’t worry. I charmed the door when I arrived. Filch cannot come in as long as I’m in here.”

  
“Why would you do that?”   
  
  
With a deadpan expression, she said, “I cannot stand him. He’s a royal pain in the arse.”

  
 _Well... she’s not entirely wrong._ Shaking her head, Hermione smiled at her. “Point taken. Did Neville really faint when he first saw you?”

  
“Bit rude, huh?” Black joked with a smirk, cracking her knuckles absentmindedly. Hermione’s eyes fell upon those pale hands of hers for a second and shot up the following one, her cheeks tinged pink. “He also passed out when he first saw Andy, apparently. Again, kinda rude.”  
  
  
Hermione laughed. “What about Narcissa?”

  
“Shockingly enough, he didn’t faint when he met her,” replied Black. “Third time lucky, I s’pose... we’re actually trying to help him, my sisters and I.” She gestured vaguely at the books and scrolls. “We’re trying to find a way to restore his parents’ sanity. Give him the life he deserves and whatnot.”  
  
  
“Really?” Hermione gasped. “That’s so nice of you...”  
  
  
Black shrugged. “It’s the least we can do, honestly.” She bit her lower lip and, for whatever reason, Hermione found that awfully distracting. “It’s awfully tasking, but we’re making progress.”

  
“I can he—”  
  
  
“No,” said Black, raising one hand. “There’s no need to. This is between us and Professor Longbottom.”

  
Hermione frowned. “Why...” she trailed off, a sudden thought crossing her mind. “You feel guilty, don’t you?”

  
Once again, Black shrugged.

  
“Bellatrix, it’s not your fault!”  
  
  
Her silver eyes widened, shimmering in the dim light. “You—”

  
Covering her mouth, Hermione blinked rapidly. Her cheeks kept getting hotter and hotter. “I— er... sorry...”  
  
  
“You apologise too much,” Black said wryly, an amused glint in her eyes. “It’s fine, Hermione.”  
  
  
Gods, her name sounded so beautiful coming from Black’s husky voice and plump lips. _I wouldn’t mind hearing it more often..._ Hermione thought as she uncovered her mouth, blushing even harder.

  
“Besides... this isn’t the first time you’ve called me by my name, remember?” continued Black with a devilish smirk.

**_  
Hermione’s hands were shaking, sweaty and cold. Memories of George losing an ear because of that spell swam back into her mind, overwhelming and all-consuming. The scent of rusted iron invaded her nostrils, nearly making her heave._ **

**_  
“Miss Bla— Bellatrix, can you hear me?”_ **

  
Hermione cleared her throat, nauseous. Thankfully, the awful memory faded into nothingness as quickly as it’d come. She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, noticing how the library smelled like sandalwood, parchment and coffee.  
  
  
“That’s true,” said Hermione rather hoarsely. “Still, I’m so—”  
  
  
“I told you,” interjected Black, sounding amused. “It’s fine.”

  
Hermione shifted in her seat and took another sip of her —Black’s— coffee before speaking up again. “If it’s okay with you,” she whispered hesitantly, “I guess I’ll call you by your name. From time to time, of course! You’re still my student.”

  
“Sure. Names are meant to be used after all,” she said whilst opening another book— _Magicke Most Evile._

  
“So...” Hermione pressed tentatively.  
  
  
Bla— Bellatrix exhaled through her nose slowly. “Guilt... I’m not sure if I feel _guilty,_ ” she eventually said. “As you’ve said, it’s not _our_ fault... I didn’t even exist back then, for Salazar’s sake! It’s just that— I guess— well...”

  
Hermione tilted her head, watching the eloquent Slytherin struggle with words for once.

  
“I dunno, he didn’t deserve _that_ ,” Bellatrix finished lamely. 

  
“You’re a good person.”

  
“Whatever helps you sleep at night, Hermione,” she said, chuckling softly.

  
Again, Hermione blushed. She took another sip of her coffee to compose herself.  
  
  
“Bellatrix?” she asked softly, the name rolling off her lips and leaving them tingling pleasantly. Bellatrix hummed and looked up, smirking. “How did you write the essay on Human Transfiguration? Madam Pomfrey doesn’t allow students to work while they’re under her care. And you were in the Hospital Wing when I asked for the assignment.”  
  
  
A loud cackle echoed throughout the library. “Knew you were gonna ask that,” she said triumphantly. “Back in fourth and fifth year, I spent lots of time in the Hospital Wing. Madam Pomfrey wouldn’t let me do my assignments in peace or talk to my sisters while I was in there, which is why I created a writing charm. Look at this.” She pointed her wand at an empty parchment and closed her eyes. A look of concentration crossed her face.   
  
  
Eventually, some words appeared on the parchment.  
  
  
 _(Hypothesis)  
  
The cure to mindless insanity.  
  
  
_“See? All you need is a wand, parchment and concentration.” With a flick of her wand, she made the sentences disappear.   
  
  
Hermione gawked at her. “That’s... absolutely brilliant. When did you create it? How’s it called?”  
  
  
“Doesn’t have a name yet,” Bellatrix said, leaving her wand on the desk again. “I created it... at the beginning of fifth year, I think. Don’t quite remember...”  
  
  
Still flabbergasted, Hermione finished her coffee and looked outside the frosted window. The sun wasn’t up just yet— wouldn’t be for a few more hours. If she focused hard enough, she could distinguish some constellations in the night sky: Cancer, Gemini and Canis Minor.   
  
  
“Hogsmeade week’s in a couple of days,” said Bellatrix suddenly, her voice hoarse and tired. “Are you going to chaperone us?”  
  


Stifling a yawn, Hermione looked at her. “Not really... but I _am_ going with Neville and Luna. What about you?” 

  
Bellatrix hummed, writing something down in an old-looking notebook. “I may go, it depends.”

  
“On what?”

  
Flashing the Slytherin signature smirk, Bellatrix glanced up. Mischief shimmered in her silver eyes.  
  
  
“You’ll see.”


	13. XIII: Would a drink suffice?

**_“Not really... but I_ ** _am **going with Neville and Luna. What about you?”**_  
 **  
**

_**Bellatrix hummed, writing something down in an old-looking notebook. “I may go, it depends.”** _

  
_**“On what?”** _

  
_**Flashing the Slytherin signature smirk, Bellatrix glanced up. Mischief shimmered in her silver eyes.** _   
  
  
_**“You’ll see.”** _

  
Unbidden, a snowball struck Hermione on the back of her head. Chuckling breathlessly, she turned around and faced her grinning friends.   
  
  
“Neville,” Hermione warned slowly, raising her wand a tad. “Put that snowball down or else I’ll—” said snowball hit her square in the face. Neville’s bubbly laughter echoed throughout the snowy terrace, followed by Luna’s quiet giggles. “Oh, now _this_ is war.”

  
His eyes widened comically.  
  
  
“Hermione, please—” Neville’s voice died off, muffled by a downpour of charmed snowballs. “Alright, alright; you win!” he chuckled weakly, but the snowballs kept coming and coming. “Luna, please help me!”

  
Luna smiled and cocked her head. “This is your fault,” she said softly. “You threw the first snowball, Nev.”

  
Neville yelped, casting a hasty _Protego_ around himself. “Because Hermione was distracted!” he explained breathlessly. “Hermione, please—!”  
  
  
“I was not distracted.”  
  
  
“You were,” said Luna, taking a step forward with a small frown. “You are surrounded by lots of Wrackspurts lately, Hermione. Is everything alright? Are you feeling unwell?”

  
Hermione calmly sheathed her wand, perhaps way slower than necessary, and raised one eyebrow inquiringly. “Ummm... come again?”  
  
  
Luna beamed. “Wrackspurts! They are invisible creatures that float in your ears and make your brain go all fuzzy. They appear when someone’s got a lot in mind,” she explained happily, meeting Hermione’s curious gaze. As always, there was a knowing glint in Luna’s blue eyes. “Or if they’re in love.”

  
 _I— excuse me?_  
  
  
“And...” Hermione said, suddenly nervous and uncomfortable. “I’ve got lots of them?”

  
A dreamy hum, a barely-there nod. “Is everything alright, Hermione?” Luna repeated softly, taking another step forward. “You’ve been getting more and more Wrackspurts over the months. I was getting really worried. If there’s something wrong, you can tell us.”  
  
  
Neville patted her back reassuringly. “Don’t you worry, Hermione,” he chuckled gently, smiling. The tip of his nose and ears were bright pink. “Teaching so many kids can be quite stressful and overwhelming, especially in your first year. I know how you feel.”

  
Hermione nodded dumbly, her cheeks on fire. 

  
_Why am I— ugh, this doesn’t make any sense...  
  
  
_ “But there’s an easy solution to that!” Neville continued, blissfully unaware of Hermione’s inner turmoil. He pointed at the village behind them with his left thumb and smiled excitedly. “Butterbeers in the Three Broomsticks! How does that sound?”

  
“Sounds great,” said Hermione breathlessly.  
  
  
Luna nodded her agreement, mouth curved into a small smile, and kept on staring at Hermione fixedly... almost knowingly.  
  
  
Feeling very self-conscious under Luna’s unrelenting gaze, Hermione cleared her throat and walked away. “W-What are we waiting for? C’mon, let’s go!”

  
And thus, the three friends headed to Hogsmeade. Their short trip was filled with anecdotes of all sorts, a stumble here and there, hysterical laughter, nostalgic sighs, more snowball fights and broad smiles.

  
“Oi, Hermione!” chuckled Neville. “Remember that time in second year when some Cornish Pixies hung me up on the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom’s old chandelier?”  
  
  
Hermione hummed happily. “How could I possibly forget about that?” A breathless giggle, a contented sigh. “Everyone and I mean _everyone_ , ran away. You were still hanging up there when I immobilised the Pixies. I remember you said something like _‘Why is it always_ _me?’_ after I stopped them.”

  
Neville laughed, blushing an adorable shade of pink, and rubbed his ears sheepishly. “Yeah... I still don’t understand how—”  
  
  
“Oh, are those the Black sisters?” Luna interjected calmly, pointing at a small group of teenagers not so far ahead. Two curly-haired witches, a tall wizard and a cloaked figure. “Let’s go say hello!”  
  
  
Sheer excitement bubbled in Hermione’s chest, warm and pleasant. Bellatrix _did_ come to Hogsmeade— _wait, why am I so happy about that? Get a grip, Granger!_

  
“Hello, everyone!” Luna greeted enthusiastically, approaching them first. None of them turned around to greet her back. “Oh... hello, Narcissa. How are you liking Hogsmeade so far?”  
  
  
“Fuck...” Andromeda mumbled under her breath, pulling the cloaked figure closer to her.

  
Hermione frowned, getting to Luna’s side in three long strides. “Miss Black?”  
  
  
“Yes?” the three sisters replied, turning around simultaneously, while the wizard — _Edward Tonks—_ covered his mouth and snorted.

  
 _Jinx.  
_  
  
“Miss Black,” said Hermione again, facing the youngest Black. “Only third years and above are permitted into the village. You shouldn’t be here.”  
  
  
Bellatrix stepped forward, smirking suavely. _Uh-oh... danger, danger._ “Don’t be such a killjoy, Professor Granger... Cissy’s on her best behaviour, promise,” she said, rummaging through her cloak’s pocket distractedly. “Besides, Hogsmeade isn’t dangerous at all. And even if was, we’d protect her from harm.”  
  
  
Narcissa’s thin lips curved into a small yet genuine smile— _Bellatrix sneaked you in here, didn’t she? Probably not the first time she does... nor the last one._  
  
  
The eldest Black pulled a _ridiculously large_ Honeydukes bag out of her pocket, grinning broadly. “Want some, Professor Granger?”  
  
  
Hermione laughed, both incredulous and amused. “If I didn’t know any better, Miss Black, I would think you’re trying to bribe me with sweets.”

  
With a little pout, Bellatrix looked back and forth between Hermione and the Honeydukes bag. Golden eyes fell upon the plump limp momentarily— _what are you doing, Hermione? Cut it out already!_  
  
  
And, seriously, what was wrong with her heart? It was just... fluttering for no good reason.  
  
  
After a couple of seconds, Bellatrix placed the Honeydukes bag inside her pocket again. “My bad,” she said, flashing a dazzling smirk. “Would a drink suffice?”  
  
  
 _I— what?_

  
Andromeda raised one eyebrow and glanced at her sister inquiringly. Beneath the hooded cloak, Narcissa pursed her thin lips and huffed. Tonks snorted again, way louder this time. Bellatrix tilted her head to the side, blinking innocently.  
  
  
“I...” Hermione mumbled, unsure of what to say. Somehow, Bellatrix Black never ceased to leave her speechless. “You—” and her cheeks were on fire again. _For God’s sake, snap out of it already!_ “Please don’t tell me you have a bottle of, say, Firewhiskey in your pockets.”  
  
  
Placing a gloved hand atop her heart, Bellatrix feigned a loud gasp. “Of course not! I would never—” as her voice died off, her brow furrowed more and more. “Is that Evan McLaggen?”

  
The middle sister nodded. “Yes— is he trying to snog Sophia Prickett?” Andromeda cocked her head and grabbed Narcissa’s hand. “Darn... I’ve never seen Prickett so uncomfortable.”

  
Bewildered, the professors turned around.  
  
  
There was nobody behind them. All students were strolling around Hogsmeade, giggling and running from one shop to another. Seeking shelter from the harsh weather and throwing snowballs at each other on occasion. 

  
“There’s... nobody there,” Neville whispered, frowning.   
  
  
When they twirled around again, they found themselves alone. The four teens were nowhere to be seen.  
  
  
Hermione could now understand Professor McGonagall’s exasperated sighs and fond smirks. Out of the corner of her eye, she could vaguely see four figures blending with the mass of students. _Tricked by teenagers... oh, how the tables have turned.  
_  
  
Luna hummed, eyeing their footprints with a small smile. “Looks like they’ve gone back to the village,” she informed. “Honeydukes, maybe?”

_  
There’s a secret passage there. From the cellar to Hogwarts’ third-floor corridor. Really clever.  
  
_

“But how?” Neville wondered loudly, looking around them for good measure. He hadn’t seen them sneak their way out through the crowd, it seemed. “We would’ve heard them!”

  
Hermione shrugged, biting her lower lip. “Feather-light charm, probably.” _Those three truly are Sirius’ cousins, hm?_ “Come on, we will deal with them later. I don’t know about you, but I’m dying for a butterbeer or two.”

  
Needless to say, the Three Broomsticks was brimming with joyful students. The ambience was lively and warm, delighted giggles and whispers echoing through the cosy inn at all times. Madam Rosmerta greeted them and pointed at a vacant table with a bob of her head. They asked for the drinks and Hermione placed a couple of galleons on the counter.   
  
  
The three adults sat down and waited for their butterbeers, making small talk again. Soon enough, Madam Rosmerta brought them a bunch of drinks and disappeared with a wink.

  
“Are you okay, Neville?” Luna questioned softly, tilting her head to the side. “You look troubled.”

  
Their friend was biting his lower lip hard enough to bruise.

  
“I just...” Neville groaned and took a large sip of his butterbeer. “Ugh, this is _so_ stupid!”

  
“Nothing is stupid if you try hard enough,” Hermione blurted out, shrugging one shoulder. _Alright, I definitely spend way too much time with Sirius._

  
Neville sighed, rubbing his eyes. “I-I cannot stand them, okay?” 

  
“Who?” 

  
“The Black sisters,” replied Neville sheepishly. “Well— I cannot stand Bellatrix in particular.”

**_  
“Professor Longbottom fainted when he first saw me.”_ **

**_  
“We’re trying to help him,” she gestured vaguely at the books and scrolls. “Find a way to restore his parents’ sanity.”_ **

  
Hermione frowned as her heart writhed in sympathy for the Slytherin witch. “And why’s that?”

  
“Because—” he looked away, guilt shimmering in his brown eyes. “I...”

  
“You blame her for her parents’ sins,” said Luna calmly, her words anything but accusing. 

  
Neville ran a hand through his hair, exhaling wearily. “How do you do it, Hermione?”

  
“Do what?”

  
“Back there,” he said quietly. “You two were friendly with one another. How do you do it?” His voice grew pained. “How can you look at her in the eye, the daughter of the man who tortured you, and not...” he sighed again and shook his head. “I saw him at the Department of Mysteries— they look so alike... and her attitude in class! She’s so snarky and... smug all the time.”

  
Hermione held his hand. “Neville... you have to differentiate Bellatrix and Cygnus,” she spat the quasi Death Eater’s name with blatant disgust. “They’re not the same person. As for the attitude thing... well, I don’t have a problem with that. She’s just... quite brilliant and confident in herself, is all.”

  
“I know that,” admitted Neville. “I just—”

  
“Neville, it’s okay...” Hermione continued gently. “At first, I couldn’t look at her without seeing Cygnus Black. I— it was horrible, but I eventually learned to differentiate one from the other.”

  
Luna smiled. “Bellatrix is really nice. Many creatures love her.” Her voice was dreamy and nostalgic once again. “Even a small herd of unicorns likes her.”

  
Golden eyes widened in surprise. 

  
“She’s also got a lot of Wrackspurts,” Luna hummed. “That’s probably why she’s so grumpy all the time...”

  
Hermione cleared her throat, looking back at Neville nervously. “In any case... I don’t hold _his_ wrongdoings against _her,_ ” she admitted softly. After much pondering, she sighed and decided to tell him the truth. “I— she was there, Neville.”

  
“What?”

  
“Harry and Ron don’t remember her— their thoughts were elsewhere. As for me... well, I haven’t told anyone about this, not even Ginny...” Hermione muttered, staring at Neville fixedly. “But Bellatrix was there the day Cygnus Black tortured me back in Malfoy Manor. He asked her if I was... well, _me_. And she _knew_ , but she lied to him and said that she couldn’t tell. He made her stay and watch.”

  
“And she didn’t do _anything?_ ” Neville asked quietly, frowning once more. “That’s—”

  
Hermione grimaced, raising her free hand up good-naturedly. “There’s not much she could have done, to be honest,” replied Hermione calmly. “The place was crawling with Snatchers and a few Death Eaters. Besides, Bellatrix was twelve— thirteen? I don’t really know...”

  
“Thirteen,” said Luna out of nowhere. “Her birthday is on December 25th.”

  
Hermione and Neville frowned, glancing at Luna curiously. “How do _you_ know that?”

_  
Jinx._

  
“Oh, the Nargles told me!” Luna answered matter-of-factly.

  
“Right...” Hermione grumbled under her breath, looking at Neville again. “Point is— Bellatrix didn’t snitch on us,” the Gryffindor witch said with a small smile. “I saw her, Neville. I saw her— dear God, she looked so scared...”

**_  
Gurgling, Hermione looked around the room, desperately searching for a way out— her eyes landed on Bellatrix. The younger witch stood near the fireplace, watching the scene unfold with a blank expression. Sheer terror reigned over her eyes, though, making her look old beyond her years._ **

**_  
Desperate, Hermione glanced at Bellatrix one more time._ ** _Please, help me. Please, please, please…_ **_The young Slytherin witch was observing the scene wide-eyed, shaking like a leaf. Now that nobody was screaming, Hermione could vaguely hear her frantic breathing and soft whimpers._**

  
Hermione smiled warmly at him. “And I know it’s hard,” she whispered. “But you have to differentiate one from the other. You could always talk with Sirius— he’s great help when he wants to.” They shared a knowing smirk. “Or you could talk to _her_ , Neville.”

  
For some reason, the idea of Neville talking with Bellatrix made Hermione feel a bit weird. The mere thought of them chatting in the library late at night had her frowning.

  
“I’ll see what I can do,” replied Neville softly. “Thank you, Hermione... I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  
Patting his hand reassuringly, Hermione chuckled. “Sulk all day long.”

  
“Yeah,” said Neville. “You’re probably right.”

  
Once again, they started talking about past adventures and hilarious anecdotes. Oftentimes, a student or two would ask them something about their student days. The whole inn would stop and stare, listening eagerly to whatever tale they had to share. Overall, a really nice experience.

  
“I almost forgot!” Neville exclaimed, scratching the back of his neck. “Are you girls going to the Yule Ball this year?”

  
Hermione frowned. “I— the Yule Ball?”

  
Neville nodded excitedly. “Yes! Hogwarts organises this huge event yearly to commemorate our victory against You-Know-Who,” he explained, tilting his head to the side. “Don’t tell me you’d forgotten about it.”

 _  
O-Oh, that’s right... I missed the Yule Ball back in our second-seventh year_ , thought Hermione sheepishly. _I was way too busy preparing myself for the N.E.W.T. exams and dealing with—_

  
“Sorry,” replied Hermione quietly, shrugging one shoulder. “I don’t have a good experience with those types of events, to be honest.”

  
Luna smiled dreamily. “I’m sure this time will be different,” she claimed. “We could all have some fun together, kind of how we did during the Dumbledore Army meetings.”

  
“Exactly!”

  
Looking back and forth between her enthused friends, Hermione sighed fondly. Truth be told, her heart ached for an actual celebration with her friends. For some enjoyable time together filled with happiness and excitement, just like in the old days— the _good_ old days.

  
“Alright, I’ll go.”

  
One night couldn’t hurt, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Bella, everyone is uncomfortable around her because she looks like Cygnus (and is his eldest daughter). One moment of silence...
> 
> Btw, I’ve had the drink scene written for nearly two months now. All I can say is fuCKING FINALLY.
> 
> Okay, now I pass out, it’s 2am LMAO


	14. XIV: House of memories.

_“Ron is coming to the Yule Ball as well, you see.”  
  
  
_ Her lungs were up in flames, her breathing shallow and hectic. Her heart thundered intensely between her ringing ears, muffling Crookshanks Junior’s desperate and worried meowing. _  
  
  
“He misses you,”_ she read quietly, her voice raspy and broken. Cold tears streamed down her flushed cheeks in rivulets— _this has to be some sort of twisted joke,_ she thought despairingly. _“He really does, ‘Mione. He hopes you two can put your differences aside and settle things already.”_  
  
  
An incredulous chuckle danced off her chapped lips, bitter and dark. Blood seeped through the cracks, tinting the rosy flesh a rich shade of red.

  
“Put our differences aside and settle things _already..._ ” Hermione repeated dryly, setting poor Harry’s letter on fire. “You must be kidding me!”

  
Ron’s angry voice rang in her head.  
  
  
 _ **“I honestly can’t believe you... you’re jealous of me!” Ron stated scathingly, pale with rage. “Because people talk about me... because people admire me!” he was talking himself into a frenzy and there was nothing she could do about that. “Because I’m successful! Because people finally recognise my skills!”**_  
  


Hermione grabbed her cloak and stormed out of her quarters, ignoring the December icy breeze. Her heart yearned for the library, her sanctuary, her personal haven of sorts.  
  
  
 _No, I cannot go there..._ Hermione thought bitterly, _Bellatrix’s probably doing research there— I cannot let her see me like this. Like... like the mess I am._

_  
**“Why can’t you be happy for me, Hermione?” Ron questioned quietly, angry tears rolling down his freckled face. Anger didn’t look good on him. “Whenever I tell you something, you fake a smile and run away. You’ve been very distant lately. Just— tell me what’s wrong...”**   
_

**_  
  
_**Sobbing hoarsely, Hermione dashed across the empty hallways. Her heart writhed painfully, pumping sheer misery into her veins and knocking the air out of her scorching lungs. The annoying buzz in her ears grew louder and louder and louder— _Hagrid! I-I need Hagrid. He always knows what to do, what to say. I-I..._

  
Rubbing her throat, Hermione quickened her pace desperately.   
  
  
**_“Be honest with me, please. I deserve that much...” he mumbled, clenching his jaw and hands. “Is there someone else? Is that why you went back to Hogwarts? Is that why you don’t kiss me anymore?”_**

**_  
“What—”_ **

**  
_Ron took a step forward. “Just... don’t lie to me, okay?” he begged, tears shimmering in his eyes. His insecurities were clouding his reasoning once again. “I’m not stupid, Hermione. You get nervous around me, you don’t even let me touch you anymore!”_  
  
 _  
Hermione gawked at him, stepping away. “There’s nobody else,” she promised, her voice cracking painfully. “I— I went back to Hogwarts because I wanted to take my N.E.W.T.s and you know that! There’s nobody else, I swear. I— it’s not you, it’s me... I just need some time. You know, to gather my thoughts and—”_ **

**_  
He laughed incredulously, running a hand through his hair. “Hermione, that’s a half-assed excuse,” he accused, “and we both know that.”  
_ ** **_  
  
“It’s not!” Hermione cried out, “I am not happy, Ronald!”_ **

**_  
Wrong thing to say._ **

**  
_The redhead winced, as though physically slapped, and squared his shoulders. “W-What?”  
_ **

  
Hermione whimpered upon arriving at Hagrid’s wooden hut. _“I’m in Diagon Alley,”_ she read, sniffing quietly. _“Getting some last-minute decorations for the Yule Ball. Come back later!”_  
  
  
“Oh, you have to be kidding me— _Tempus!_ ” The tip of her wand glowed white and an ethereal clock appeared before her puffy eyes. December 24th, 1:39 in the morning. “Goddammit, he’s probably at the pub!”  
  
  
Distraught, she paced around Hagrid’s hut absentmindedly. Unbeknownst to her, she walked into the Forbidden Forest after the sixth or seventh loop. The eerie air filled her scorching lungs, alleviating the pain ever so slightly. As she ventured further, the breeze grew colder and colder.  
  
  
Kicking a pebble, she groaned. “What am I going to do now?” She grimaced, rubbing her sore throat again. “I cannot go back to the castle... I need someone to talk to— someone who understands...” she said, sniffling a bit; the admission slipping through her lips with surprising ease. This was the downside of getting better, she supposed; relapse was bound to happen at some point.  
  
  
Helplessness crawled its way into her shivering body again, familiar yet foreign. _Alone, alone, alone, alone..._ it chanted darkly, dragging its vicious hands all over her aching soul.

  
“Everyone is asleep,” whispered Hermione hoarsely, considering her options. “And I’m—”  
  
  
 ** _“You’re not happy,” Ron parroted quietly, looking at her wide-eyed. After a moment of awkward silence, he snapped out of his stupor and stepped forward. “What in the actual fuck, Hermione?”_**  
 **_  
  
She raised her hands slowly, trying to appease the angry redhead. “Let’s... calm down. Let me explain myself, please...”_**

  
_**“E-Explain yourself?” he laughed, stepping forward once again. Too close, he was getting too close. “You’ve been acting very weird lately... you don’t let me kiss you, hold your hand, hug you, be with you... guess I know why now.”** _

**_  
“Ron, please don’t jump to conclusi—”  
_**

**_  
“You’re seeing someone!” Ron exclaimed angrily, blinded by jealousy. He pointed his index finger at her and spat, “someone that makes you happy, unlike me! Who is it, ey?”  
_**

**_  
_**Alone.

  
Hermione was alone.

  
Completely and utterly alone.  
  
  
Another round of tears welled up in her golden eyes, distorting her already limited field of vision. “YOU COMPLETE ARSE, RONALD WEASLEY!” Hermione’s distraught voice ricocheted off the ancient trees, echoing back and forth throughout the entire forest. A branch snapped in half somewhere beside her, so close yet so far away, but she didn’t care. “PUT OUR DIFFERENCES ASIDE AND SETTLE THINGS _ALREADY..._ YOU DAMN—”

  
Her fragile heart cracked and shattered into a million pieces again, pieces she could no longer glue together. An inhumane sob tore through her lips, not dissimilar to a pained growl from a battered wolf.

  
_**“After all we’ve been through together...” she mumbled, shaking her head sadly. Almost eight years of friendship, countless adventures, near-death experiences and endless emotions... they had fought a war together, for God’s sake! Even in adversity, they’d had each other. “You accuse me of... of cheating! What’s wrong with you, Ron?”** _

**_  
His accusations hurt greatly.  
  
  
She was with him because she loved him— right?   
  
  
Yes, she loved him... just like how she loved Harry, Ginny and everyone else— oh...  
  
  
Ron flared his nostrils but said no more._ **

  
**_“You’re an idiot, Ronald Weasley,” she hissed, blinking back tears. “How can you say—_ ”**

**  
_“Prove me wrong!” Ron interjected, spreading his arms wide in his rage. Occupying more space within the narrowness of the room. “C’mon, prove me wrong!”_   
_  
  
Face creased with annoyance, she stepped away from him. “I can’t!” she said sharply, “I can’t because there’s nothing to prove! I’m not cheating on you!”_ **

**_  
_**Hermione clutched her cloak desperately, chilled to the bone, and dug her fingers hard into her aching chest. Right above her broken heart, which kept writhing and writhing in pain, pumping scorching misery into her veins.  
  
  
“How could you...” she whispered, falling to her knees in front of an overly familiar pond. The air around her was freezing and sinister, but Hermione couldn’t bring herself to care. Not when hopelessness was whispering and crooning sweet nothings into her ear. “How could you say those things, Ronald?” she cried out, clawing at the shore beneath her shaky hands. A weak sob danced off her quivering lips again— the blood had long since dried off, leaving a metallic aftertaste in her mouth.  
 ****

  
_It’s been four years... and I’m still not over our breakup— our argument. How pathetic is that, huh?_

_  
**“Oh, for the love of God!” she screamed, dashing across the Burrow’s corridors. They were narrow, too narrow. Even though there wasn’t anybody else around, there wasn’t enough space to breathe, to think. “I’m not cheating on you, Ronald! Just ask Ginny when she comes back, she’ll tell you—”**   
_

**_  
Ron snorted and gave chase. He’d grown much faster during his time as an Auror, so he caught up with her in no time. “Sure, because my sister’s such a reliable source of information!”_ **

**_  
Turning around abruptly and nearly colliding with him, Hermione scowled. “And what is that supposed to mean, Ronald?”  
  
  
“Ginny would take one for the team,” he explained matter-of-factly, narrowing his eyes a tad. He was absolutely by rage and his own insecurities. “She would lie for you, no questions asked. That’s what friends do, isn’t it?”  
_**

  
_**“You are jealous,” said Hermione, memories of the Yule Ball rushing back to her head. And a jealous was a nasty Ron. “And being completely irrational! Ginny’s your sister, Ronald Weasley, how dare you assume—”** _

**_  
Ron scowled and circled Arthur’s favourite seat. Just like a predator ready to pounce on its trapped prey. “For Merlin’s sake, I just want answers!”_**

**  
_And suddenly, Hermione’s rage vanished into thin air. Her will to argue faded away into nothingness as a cold numbness took over her body, clouding her reasoning. She was exhausted. She wanted to leave, to run away someplace safe. To hide and never come back.  
_   
  
_“Alright... you know what?” she said calmly whilst gesturing between the two, eyeing the fireplace with newfound interest. “This isn’t going to work.”_   
_  
_ ** **_  
“What?”_ **

**_  
“You’ve heard me... we’re over.”_ **

_  
I cannot see him again!_ she thought darkly, breathing erratically. There wasn’t any hope left in her shivering body. _What if we fight again—?_ she mused as a small whimper rolled off her freezing lips. _That would be a complete disaster! His family’s also coming to the Yule Ball. Hundreds of students are going to attend the celebration as well. A blown-out argument in front of so many people would be downright dreadful... I wouldn’t be able to face my students again! To stand the stares, the whispers, the questions, the gossip—_ _  
  
  
“Expecto Patronum!”  
_

  
Happiness and warmth returned to her freezing body, foreign yet welcome.   
  
  
Turning around hastily, Hermione gasped for air.   
  
  
Golden eyes widened in surprise.  
  
  
A bunch of Dementors —four or five, she couldn’t quite tell— were fleeing the scene, chased away by a medium-sized hyena. After scaring them all away, the _Patronus_ ran toward her and ran in circles around her, growling protectively before vanishing into thin air.

  
She didn’t recognise the _Patronus—_  
  
  
“Morgana’s tits!” a familiar voice exclaimed rather breathlessly. “Don’t you dare do that ever again! You— you scared the living shit out of me!”  
  
  
 _Fuck... why’s she here!?  
  
  
_ Ashamed, Hermione lowered her head. “What are _you_ doing here?”

  
“What am I—” an incredulous cackle echoed throughout the clearing, followed by a branch snapping in half. “ _You_ could’ve gotten your soul sucked out by a bunch of hungry Dementors,” the newcomer said dryly, her voice growing closer and louder. “And you’re asking _me_ — damn, you really need to learn how to sort your priorities.”

 _  
_Hermione fought the urge to snort. _N_ _ot the first time someone tells me that..._ _  
  
  
_“Just answer the bloody question, Miss Black...” Hermione mumbled harshly, her hair on edge. A pang of guilt and shame tore her heart in two— _wait, why am I acting like this? Why can’t I even look her in the eye?_ _  
  
  
_An indignant huff resonated through the field, followed by a bitter _‘Miss Black’_ that made Hermione turn inward even further. “Prefect rounds,” the Slytherin replied blankly, her voice becoming distant again. “I patrol the Forbidden Forest on weekends because Rosier’s a scaredy-cat who cannot step into the forest without fainting.”  
  
  
Speechless, Hermione nodded dumbly.  
  
  
A few seconds later, a nondescript item landed right next to her: a wrapped bar of chocolate from Honeydukes.

  
“Eat up,” said Bellatrix. “It’ll help.”

  
“Thank you,” whispered Hermione, reaching for it with shaky hands. Her lips curved into a small smile as she tore the wrapping off. “Dark chocolate?”  
  
  
She could practically _hear_ Bellatrix’s shrug and little smirk. “It’s my favourite.”  
  
  
Unsure of what to say, Hermione took a bite. “Blegh, so biter...”

  
An amused chuckle reached her ears, low and velvety. “I take you’re more of a milk chocolate person, hm?” Hermione blushed a bit and shrugged one shoulder. “Thought so.”

  
As she ate, another wave of warmth rushed through her body and tore through the unnatural coldness that had taken hold of her. None of them moved or talked for a couple of minutes, too lost in thought.

  
“Hermione, look at me.”

  
She eyed her surroundings desperately, embarrassed to the core... feeling like a complete idiot and an even greater coward. _This is stupid, why can’t I—  
  
  
_ “Look at me,” repeated Bellatrix.

  
With a heavy sigh, Hermione shook her head. “I-I cannot do that,” she whispered honestly, head hanging low in shame. “I’m sorry.”  
  
  
“Why?”

 _  
Excellent question..._ Hermione thought wryly. “I don’t know... I’m—”

  
“Scared?” Bellatrix’s collected voice cracked almost imperceptibly, disappointment and betrayal bleeding through the gaps. “Did the Dementors change your mind all of a sudden, hm?”

  
“No!” Hermione screamed, but kept her head low. “Bellatrix, we’ve been over this! I am not afraid of you.”

  
A haughty hum. “Doesn’t look like it.”

  
“I just—”   
  
  
Realisation struck her like a freight truck, knocking the wind out of her. _I don’t want you to see me like this... so vulnerable, so weak and so, so messed up. As selfish as it may sound... I don’t want you to think less of me..._

  
And then it hit her.

_  
Ah... she’s probably heard me scream my lungs out— back then, when the branch snapped in half... fantastic, just what I needed right now.  
  
_

“I just can’t, I’m really sorry...” Hermione said, staggering to her feet. After looking around the clearing with narrowed eyes, she sighed wearily. “What were those Dementors doing here, anyway?”  
  
  
Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione saw Bellatrix shrug. The girl was leaning against some trees, far away from her, and sporting and unreadable expression. “There’s a huge herd around. That’s partly why us Prefects patrol the area at night. They’ve been here since the Battle of Hogwarts, it seems,” she explained blankly. “They _usually_ lurk within the depths of the Forbidden Forest now that Azkaban’s been reformed— a pity, if you ask me. They’re a royal pain in the arse...”

_  
They usually lurk within the depths of the forest... unless there’s something or someone, a beacon of misery and despair, that catches their attention— okay, got it.  
_

  
“Thank you,” whispered Hermione, “for saving me back there.”

  
Bellatrix huffed. “You scared the living daylights out of me,” she drawled. “You almost ran smack into me before, but you didn’t seem to notice—” Hermione winced and mumbled yet another quiet apology. “I also called your name, but you didn’t even hear me.”

  
“I had a lot in mind, sorry...”

  
“No shit,” said Bellatrix dryly. 

  
Hermione smiled wistfully. “Again, I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “And thankful— I’m— that was quite an impressive _Patronus_. A hyena... quite unique, to be honest. I read that they find comfort in noncomformity...”

  
“I do take pride in my uniqueness,” replied Bellatrix. Wry amusement dripped from her raspy voice now, a thousand times more delightful than naked hurt and betrayal. “ _Expecto Patronum._ ”

  
The silvery hyena appeared once more, dashing across the pond enthusiastically.

  
With a fond smile, Hermione unsheathed her wand and tenderly whispered, “ _Expecto Patronum._ ”

  
Her silvery otter emerged from the tip of her wand, chirping happily and swimming around her in circles. Its contended cries filled her with great joy and warmth. _“Everything’s going to be alright,”_ the silvery otter seemed to say. _“I will protect you from the darkness.”_

  
Much to Hermione’s surprise, the silvery hyena approached her little otter carefully. They regarded each other for a moment —a very tense and awkward moment, mind you— before running away together in what appeared to be a game of tag.

  
“They like each other,” commented Bellatrix thoughtfully.

  
Hermione nodded, caressing her wand rather absentmindedly. “Looks like it,” she said, smiling at the _Patroni_. Finally, she gathered the courage to look at Bellatrix for the first time that night. “We should get back to the castle— today is going to be a very frenetic day, we need to get some rest.”

  
“What— oh... you mean the Yule Ball,” mumbled Bellatrix, toying with her thumb ring distractedly. “Are you going?”

  
Her heart writhed again upon thinking about Harry’s letter. “Yes,” she replied bitterly whilst looking away, blinking back tears. “Most of my friends are coming back to Hogwarts for the occasion, there’s no way I could possibly miss that. What about you?”

  
A thoughtful hum.

  
“I will go,” said Bellatrix calmly. Hermione could practically _hear_ her lips curving into that smirk of hers. “Someone has to make sure that Lucy and Teddie behave. No funny business with my baby sisters, please and thank you.”

  
Inevitably, Hermione laughed. 

  
For some reason, Yule Ball didn’t seem all that bad anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One step forward, two steps back... Almost as if they were dancing!


	15. XV: When in doubt, look at the stars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your lovely comments! Hopefully, this chapter lives up to your expectations ;)
> 
> I may or may have not used some dialogues from my "Dance the night away" fic, oops...
> 
> I wrote the Bellamione interaction while listening to "Friends" by Chase Atlantic. It has nothing to do with the story, but the tone and rhythm fit the moment like a glove. Just saying... In case someone wants to have a richer experience ;)

“Hermione, are you ready to— dear Merlin...”  
  
  
Sirius leaned against the doorframe, peering at her with fatherly pride shimmering bright within his grey eyes. His mouth curved into an honest-to-God smile, reassuring and warm, as he spoke up. “Look at you... you are dazzling, Hermione.”

  
Blushing profusely, Hermione looked in the mirror again. “You really think so, Sirius?” she asked in a small voice, going over her attire for the nth time in a row. To say that she was completely and utterly nervous would be a great understatement. 

  
Just like in fourth year, her chestnut curls were twisted up into an elegant knot at the back of her head. Her golden hoops shone beneath the candlelight, ethereal and mesmerising, like her strawberry chapstick. A necklace rested upon her cleavage, its pendant resembling a time turner— a parting gift Minerva’d given her after graduating. As for the outfit itself... Hermione was wearing a carmine knee-length dress that clung to her body in all the right places. It had roses embroidered along the top’s side, a beautiful wavy skirt and long sleeves.   
  
  
And though she felt stunning, her nervousness made her think otherwise.   
  
  
“Oh, please...” Sirius chuckled, rolling his eyes good-naturedly. He stepped into the room and nodded at Crookshanks Junior. “I _know_ so, Hermione. You look absolutely dazzling...” His reassuring smile turned slightly cheeky. “Are you trying to impress somebody?”  
  
  
For a second, she thought about devilish lips and silver eyes.  
  
  
“I—” she blurted out as her cheeks flushed a lovely shade of red, not unlike that of her dress. “N-Not necessarily.”  
  
  
Sirius hummed suggestively and wiggled his eyebrows various times. “That’s definitely a yes,” he said, toying with a small box distractedly. “Lucky bloke... or gal.”  
  
  
Her blush spread down her neck.  
  
  
“Do shut up!” Hermione squeaked, glaring at him in mock outrage. “You look good yourself—” she said, giving him an appraising look. He was wearing dress robes of black velvet with a high collar, his hair down in elegant ringlets. He had even trimmed his moustache a bit. “Are _you_ trying to impress someone, hmm?”  
  


“I _always_ dress to impress,” he laughed, tugging at his collar whilst smiling suavely.  
  
  
 _Modesty definitely doesn’t run in the Black family, huh?_

  
Hermione shook her head, smirking wryly. “What’s in that box?”

  
All of a sudden, the playful atmosphere turned solemn.  
  
  
“A silver compass. A family heirloom, so to speak...” There was a twinkle of nostalgia in his grey eyes. With a deep sigh, Sirius opened the little box and gave Hermione the small compass. “It’s charmed. There’s a map inside, a map of the constellations.”

  
His family crest —which included that horrid and bigoted motto of theirs— was carved into the lid, but an old inscription on the compass’ rim caught Hermione’s attention. “Per aspera ad astra...” she read softly, admiring the cursive handwriting. “Latin for _through hardship to the stars..._ ” she whispered as she opened the cap. True to Sirius’ word, there was a moving map inside instead of a compass. _Pisces, Aries, Taurus... Orion..._  
  
  
“Used to be mine a long, long time ago,” continued Sirius quietly, staring at nothing in particular. “My... father... gave it to me when I turned fifteen. I gave it to Regulus before I ran away... when he was fourteen.” He picked the compass up gently and put it inside the small box again. “And now... I’m going to give it to Trixie for her seventeenth birthday.”

  
“That’s so sweet, Sirius.”

  
He smiled earnestly and put the box away— _does everyone have enchanted pockets now? Last time I checked, dressing robes didn’t have spacious pockets._

  
After an awkward pause, Sirius cleared his throat and bowed with a flourish. “Shall we go?” he asked with feigned politeness, a mischievous glint in his eye. “I’m sure everyone’s waiting for us.”  
  


**_“Are you going?”_ **

  
_**“Yes,” she replied bitterly whilst looking away, blinking back tears. “Most of my friends are coming back to Hogwarts for the occasion, there’s no way I could possibly miss that. What about you?”  
  
** _

**_A thoughtful hum._ **

  
**_“I will go,” said Bellatrix calmly. Hermione could practically_ ** _hear_ **_her lips curving into that smirk of hers. “Someone has to make sure that Lucy and Teddie behave. No funny business with my baby sisters, please and thank you.”_ **

  
_I want to apologise to her..._

_  
_Hermione nodded, heading toward the door with newfound determination. “C’mon, let’s not keep our friends waiting. At this rate, we’ll be late for the party.”

  
Behind her, Sirius snorted. “Hermione, we’ve been over this already—” he said, waving at Crookshanks Jr. before closing the door. “The party doesn’t until Padfoot arrives.”

  
“No comments,” chuckled Hermione, waving amiably at wandering students and ghosts. 

  
“How rude,” joked Sirius, “ten galleons say that the egg-nog has been spiked already.”  
  
  
Hermione raised an eyebrow inquiringly. “Sirius, I hardly see why—”  
  
  
Sirius smirked, giving her a knowing look that said _‘Hermione, please... this is a castle filled with hormonal teenagers. Besides, everyone has spiked egg-nog at least once in their lives. If the punch is not spiked already, I will lose whatever little faith I have left in humanity.’_

  
Rolling her eyes good-naturedly, Hermione smirked and indulged him. “Fifteen if a Gryffindor or a Slytherin spiked it.”  
  
  
“Oh, now we’re talking!” laughed Sirius boisterously, rushing down the stairs. “Twenty if a _Hufflepuff_ spiked it.”

  
Hermione frowned, tilting her head to the side. “Why a Hufflepuff?”  
  
  
“Because nobody would expect that,” he explained matter-of-factly, raising his eyebrows. “Everyone thinks they’re all a bunch of goody-two-shoes with no backbone whatsoever, but that’s a bunch of bollocks!” he said as he turned left and stepped into the Great Hall.  
  
  
Just like in fourth year, the Great Hall was overflowing with ecstatic students and lively music orchestrated by Professor Flitwick. Regardless of their House and gender, couples of all ages danced freely across the spacious room, sporting vibrant smiles and joyful expressions. The air was heavy with perfumes of all kinds and a touch of sweat.  
  
  
“Yeah... I’ll drink to that,” Hermione replied absentmindedly, voice muffled by the loud and constant chatter. Her golden eyes darted around the Great Hall, searching for a long mane of curls as black as darkness itself. Instead, she spotted a bunch of redheads. Nervousness kicked in again, unpleasant and unwelcome. Taking a deep breath, she grabbed Sirius’ arm and nodded. “I found the Weasleys!”

  
“Great!”

  
With mild difficulty, the duo threaded their way through the dancing crowd, occasionally exchanging pleasantries with countless students —though none of them was the one Hermione was secretly looking for— and some professors. After some minutes, they reached their destination.  
  
  
Unfortunately for Hermione, who had become a nervous wreck on their way there, Ron noticed them first. “B-Blimey!”  
  
  
Everyone turned around, smiling wide and bright.  
  
  
For a moment, Hermione allowed herself to forget about _everything_ — the heartache, the tears, the pain, the darkness, the hopelessness... they all vanished into thin air, chased away by the Weasleys’ blinding happiness and overwhelming warmth.  
  
  
“Hello, you two!” they all chorused enthusiastically, hugging the living daylights out of both professors. “Long time no see, aye?”

  
“Yeah,” said Hermione softly, “we should meet up more often.”  
  


For a moment, the Weasleys shared knowing smiles. _  
  
  
_“If that’s the case... why don’t you spend this winter break with us, ‘Mione?” Ginny asked, speaking for her entire family. “Percy and Charlie won’t come home for Christmas, but everyone else will be there. Even Fleur and Bill!”

  
Hermione’s heart melted a little. “Would that be—”

  
“Absolutely!” Mrs. Weasley exclaimed happily, pulling her into another bone-crushing hug. Quite literally. “You’re more than welcome into our home, dear. You’re family.”

  
Blinking back tears, Hermione backed away and nodded fervently. A couple of curls broke free from their elegant imprisonment, but Hermione couldn’t bring herself to care. She was brimming with joy, reunited with her second family once again. “I— I told my parents I’d spend Christmas here— but yes, I would love to!”

  
“Brilliant,” said Ginny in true Harry Potter fashion. “Now... I know this moment’s very wholesome and heartwarming and whatever, but I could _really_ use a drink or two. ‘Mione, come with me?”  
  
  
Hermione let herself be carried away by the small redhead, chuckling at her best friend’s antics. 

  
Once they were away from earshot, Ginny smiled at her gently. “Is everything alright? How’s life treating you?”  
  
  
“I— things could be better,” said Hermione, reaching for a couple of non-alcoholic beverages. “I’m coping... somewhat. Crookshanks Jr. helps me a lot... he’s always there when things spiral out of control. And I— er... yes. I’m coping. I’m definitely a bit better now.”  
  
  
Ginny relaxed visibly. “I’m glad to hear that,” she said whilst pouring some egg-nog into a calyx. “You deserve happiness, Hermione. You really, really do.”

  
“Thank you, Gin...” Hermione said right before Ginny choked on her drink, nearly coughing her lungs out. “Well— guess I owe Sirius ten galleons. _Fantastic._ ”

  
“Sweet mother of Merlin!” Ginny cried out, grimacing. “Now that’s some strong shit... damn, what the hell’s wrong with your students, ‘Mione?”  
  
  
Hermione cleaned the mess with a nonverbal _Scourgify,_ smiling sheepishly. “They’re teenagers, Gin.”

  
“I didn’t spike egg-nog with all types of alcohol in my teen years!” Ginny laughed, reaching for some orange juice. “Damn... teens these days really take the whole _‘go big or go home’_ thing a bit too personally, huh? I almost feel bad for the poor lightweights.”  
  


“Almost?”

  
Ginny winked and drank the beverage in one go.  
  
  
Exhaling loudly, the redhead surveyed their surroundings for a minute or two. “And... how are you holding up?” she questioned softly, her voice almost inaudible due to the music. “With the whole _Ron_ thing, I mean. You looked very uncomfortable back there, you know?”  
  
  
“I—” her voice died off momentarily, memories of that morning rushing back to her head. “I realised that I don’t love him like _that_. And I’m afraid of telling him— ugh, I don’t want to speak about him, Gin...”

**_  
“You’re seeing someone!” Ron exclaimed angrily, blinded by jealousy. He pointed his index finger at her and spat, “someone that makes you happy, unlike me! Who is it, ey?”  
_**

  
Ginny squeezed her shoulder gently.  
  
  
Hermione chewed on her lower lip, her breathing hard and shallow once more. Her pulse skyrocketed, her heart thundering between her ears. _Get a grip,_ she told herself bitterly. _You’re too emotional, Granger._  
  
  
“Hey... It’s okay, ‘Mione. I’m here for you... if you don’t wanna talk about him, then we won’t,” she said whilst rubbing small circles on her tense shoulder. The action felt relaxing, soothing and steadying. “So... has anyone caught your eye recent—”

  
“Ah, there you are!”

  
An exhausted, frightened whimper rolled off her lips. Her worst fears were coming to fruition, how delightful.  
  
  
Ginny swore under her breath, quick and crude, and turned around. “What do you want, Ron?”  
  
  
 _Go away, go away, go away, go away, go away, go away, go away...  
  
  
_ “I want to talk with ‘Mione.”  
  
  
Tentatively, Hermione twirled around and faced him as well. “Ronald,” she greeted with a blank expression, her voice shockingly even. “How are you doing?”

  
He swallowed hard, tugging at his collar nervously. Sheer remorse shone bright within his eyes— but that wasn’t _enough._ That would never be _enough._

  
Ginny’s hand slipped into hers, giving it a reassuring squeeze.  
  
  
“I— well— I’m doing just fine,” Ron spluttered, probably way louder than intended. “Listen— could we— I was hoping we could—”

  
“Professor Granger.”  
  
  
Hermione turned around to look at the newcomer, a small smile tugging at her lips— and stopped breathing for a second.

_  
Holy mother of—_

  
Those unruly curls of hers were gathered up in a lovely yet loose updo, seemingly absorbing all of her candlelight. With her hair out of the way, one could easily see her pronounced cheekbones and jaw. Her rosy lips were painted carmine, absolutely enthralling and tantalising. Her dress was a Slytherin green and off-the-shoulder, revealing pale skin for the entire world to see. Her v-neck was pronounced, nigh-on indecent and downright breathtaking— her sharp collarbones were downright eye-catching. And last but not least, the lacy corset made Hermione’s brain go _‘error, error’_ for a couple of seconds.  
  
 _  
No scars?_ a small, curious voice hummed in the back of Hermione’s head whilst she gawked at Bellatrix. _That’s very weird, don’t you think? Madam Pomfrey said the Sectumsempra would leave scars..._

  
Hermione dismissed the voice in a heartbeat, not interested in that line of thought at the current moment.

  
Silver eyes wandered down for a moment. “I wanted to speak with you, professor,” she said, her carmine lips curling into a dazzling smirk that made Hermione dizzy. “In private, if you will.”  
  
  
“Umm... excuse me,” said Ron awkwardly, stepping between the two witches. “I’m talking with her right now—”

  
“Is that so?” Bellatrix hummed languidly, raising a pale hand when Ron opened his mouth yet again. “Wait, let me rephrase that a little bit— I don’t care.”

  
“What did you just—”

  
Squeezing Ginny’s hand one last time, Hermione moved forward with unyielding conviction. “It’s alright, Ron. We can always talk later—” Bellatrix’s carmine smirk grew wider. “There are several things I wanted to discuss with her, anyway—” And surprise crossed her pale features for a fleeting moment. “I’ll be back soon, alright? Have fun! And please don’t go near the egg-nog, someone’s spiked it already.”   
  
  
“Can confirm,” mumbled Ginny, feigning a gag. Her bright brown eyes found Hermione’s golden ones, fixing her an _‘oh, we are so gonna talk about this when you come back’_ type of glare. 

  
Hermione smiled thankfully at her friend before facing her student. “Let’s go to the Transfiguration classroom.”  
  
  
Smirking slightly, Bellatrix nodded and let herself be pulled into the dancing crowd. Torn between surprise and morbid curiosity, lots of students parted before them —definitely shocked to see them leave the Great Hall together— and granted them easy access to the exit.  
  
  
“That was a bit rude, don’t you think?” Hermione whispered once they approaching the Transfiguration classroom, her heart thundering at speeds unknown. “What you said to Ron back there.”

  
Golden eyes met silver ones, shimmering with mischief and a scorching intensity that always took Hermione’s breath away.

  
“As was calling him— what was it again?” Bellatrix hummed with feigned thoughtfulness, flashing a toothy smirk. “An _absolute arse._ ”  
  
  
Groaning, Hermione turned left all of a sudden. “Change of plans, we’re going to the Transfiguration courtyard,” she said, her stomach up in knots. _I’m going to need an awful lot of fresh air and space for this conversation._

  
And shockingly enough, there were no students around whatsoever. That puzzled Hermione, who casted an _Homenum Revelio_ for good measure. Nothing happened; they were completely alone.  
  
  
With a deep sigh, Hermione twirled and faced Bellatrix, who was staring at the night sky absentmindedly. Her features were soft and unguarded for once, making her look like a common sixteen-year-old student, and there was a small smile tugging at her carmine lips.

  
Curious, Hermione glanced up as well.  
  
  
A beautiful sea of stars sparkled radiantly in the night sky. _There’s Canis Major,_ thought Hermione in mild wonder, recalling Aurora Sinistra’s classes and Sirius’ compass vaguely. _That one’s Lepus... and above Lepus lies Orion, also known as the Hunter, with its three brightest stars: Rigel, Betelgeuse and—_  
  
  
“I wanted to speak with you,” said Bellatrix softly, putting some distance between them. “Look at me... please?”

  
Hermione twirled around and offered Bellatrix a smile, taken aback by the raw vulnerability and hesitancy that dripped from Bellatrix’s usually powerful and confident voice.

  
“I—” she paused, frowned and took a deep breath. “Be honest with me, that’s all I ask... do you see my father whenever you look at me?”

  
She chewed on her bottom lip, trying to put her racing thoughts into coherent words. “Yes...” she answered quietly, studying Bellatrix’s aristocratic features and seeing them tense up ever so slightly. “When the darkness becomes too much. When the memories won’t let go.” 

  
When Bellatrix crossed her arms, nodding slowly, Hermione felt the distance between them grow further and further.   
  
  
“Is that why you avoided me like the plague?” she asked quietly. Her words, while straight to the point, weren’t harsh or accusing. “That day in Transfiguration class, for example.”  
  
  
“I’m _so_ not proud of that,” grumbled Hermione under her breath, which made Bellatrix tilt her head and crack a little smirk. “Yes, that’s why— again, I’m terribly sorry about that.”

  
“Back in the Forbidden Forest— is that why you refused to look at me?”

  
Golden eyes widened in surprise. “No!” she said in a heartbeat, determined. “Absolutely not. I— believe it or not, I didn’t want you to... see me like that.” Absolute silence followed. “I— you know... so weak, so vulnerable and so defeated. I’m so sorry about that, Bellatrix. I am supposed to be strong and a—”

  
Finally taking a step forward, Bellatrix raised an eyebrow. “I heard you scream,” she admitted matter-of-factly, confirming Hermione’s fears. _Honestly, everyone and their mothers probably heard me scream my lungs out last night._ “You almost ran smack into me, Hermione. You weren’t aware of your surroundings, you could’ve gotten yourself killed.” 

  
A reckless student was scolding her, how ironic.

  
For some reason, Hermione couldn’t look away from those captivating silver eyes. “I know, I know—” she made a pause and sighed wearily. “What’s this all about, Bellatrix?”  
  
  
“I honestly don’t know...” whispered Bellatrix. “I needed to know— so many questions, not enough answers. You are a conundrum, but I cannot for the life of me figure you out. I want answers... I need to understand...”  
  
  
With a snort of amusement, Hermione raised her eyebrows. “My thoughts exactly,” she said softly. “There are many things I don’t understand either... why did you sound so awed when we first met? Why did you lie for me at Malfoy Manor?”  
  
  
“Because I respected you,” answered Bellatrix quietly, reaching for the fake time-turner slowly. Her painted nails brushed against Hermione’s skin, sending shivers running down her spine. “McGonagall told me an awful lot about you back in the day— your wits and cleverness impressed me, which is a rare occurrence in and of itself. I respected you... I still do.”

  
Hermione licked her lips, processing the new information. “The day I visited you in the Hospital Wing,” she murmured nervously, glancing at Bellatrix’s slim fingers. “You were awake the whole time, weren’t you?”

  
“How awfully perceptive of you.”

  
“Why?”

  
Bellatrix chuckled, caressing the _‘Are gauged by what you have to do’_ inscription absentmindedly. “I am a Black first and a Slytherin second,” she said matter-of-factly. “Cunning, ambitious, resourceful... I don’t show my cards just like that. That’d put me in a disadvantage.” Silver eyes glanced up slowly, meeting Hermione’s intrigued gaze. “Had you known I was awake, you wouldn’t have said any of those things.”  
  
  
“That’s—” an amused snort, a pointed look. “Okay, you’re right.”

  
“Aren’t I always?”

  
“No,” whispered Hermione with a confident smile, feeling bold. Something about the closure —about the younger witch _herself_ , truthfully— was absolutely exhilarating. “I’m afraid not, Miss Black... you thought I was scared of you, which isn’t true.”

  
Raising an eyebrow, Bellatrix smirked suavely. Her whole demeanour screamed _‘two can play this game’_. “Now that’s wrong, Professor Granger— first day of class, remember? You couldn’t look at me without becoming a quivering mess. You are always nervous when I’m around, whyever is that?”  
  
  
 _Is it that obvious?  
  
  
_ Hermione shrugged half-heartedly, her cheeks growing hotter. “You are a conundrum, but I cannot for the life of me figure you out,” she repeated Bellatrix’s words softly. “So many questions... and not enough answers...”

  
Nodding thoughtfully, Bellatrix released the fake time-turner and crossed her arms. For whatever reason, Hermione missed the feeling of her fingernails brushing lightly against her skin. “Looks like we have the same problem... how curious,” Bellatrix laughed. Her aristocratic features softened, warmth shimmering in her usually mischievous eyes. “Are we okay?”  
  
 _  
We’ve really come a long way...  
  
  
_ “I think so,” said Hermione, her mouth curving into a fond smile. “Are we okay?” _  
  
  
_Bellatrix snorted softly, cracking a little smirk. “I think so—” she replied, taking a step back and nodding at the corridors behind. “We should probably head back. Your... _friends_... must be worried out of their minds.”

  
Hermione didn’t miss the hard edge on Bellatrix’s voice when she said _friends_. 

  
_I must be imagining things... she sounds more amused than anything._  
  
  
When the Slytherin started walking away, Hermione ran after her. “W-Wait!” she exclaimed as a sudden thought crossed her mind at speeds unknown. She unsheathed her wand and casted a non-verbal _Tempus_ under Bellatrix’s intrigued gaze. The ethereal clock appeared, marking December 25th, 0:06 in the morning. Hermione took a deep breath, gathering up all of her Gryffindor courage, and said, “I... er... maybe— would you like to dance with me?”  
  
  
“Huh, I didn’t know you could dance,” whispered Bellatrix as she approached Hermione once more. “Sure, why not?”   
  
  
Hermione smiled brightly. “Really? I— great!”  
  
  
Giddily remembering McGonagall’s dancing lessons back in fourth year, Hermione put her right hand on Bellatrix’s waist rather nervously. Right above her hipbone, she noticed. “This is okay, right? You don’t mind—”   
  
  
Hermione smiled brightly. “Really? I— great!” Giddily remembering McGonagall’s dancing lessons, Hermione placed her right hand on Bellatrix’s waist rather nervously. “This is okay, right? You don’t mind—”  
  
  
Carmine lips curled up into a dazzling smirk. “This is perfect... but, in case you haven’t noticed, we don’t have music.”

  
“We don’t need music,” said Hermione, spinning her around tentatively. As she plummeted into Bellatrix’s enthralling eyes, she realised that she hadn’t felt _this_ nervous in a long, long time. “Happy birthday, Bellatrix.”  
  
  
The pure-blood raised an eyebrow whilst humming, taking a step closer to Hermione and following her lead with outstanding ease. “Who told you? I don’t recall telling you that during our meetings.”

  
Ignoring the butterflies in her stomach, Hermione placed both hands on Bellatrix’s waist and lifted her carefully. A couple of curls broke free from their lovely imprisonment and flowed freely down her pale shoulders. Gorgeous, she thought. Bellatrix Black was absolutely gorgeous. “Oh, you know... the Nargles told me,” she said in a poor imitation of Luna’s dreamy voice that made them both laugh. “And a certain scruffy dog mentioned something of the like.”

  
“I see...” whispered Bellatrix, meeting Hermione’s soft gaze with a little smile. With utmost carefulness, she tucked some curls behind Hermione’s ear and hummed contentedly. “Happy birthday to me.”   
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
Blushing a lovely shade of red, Hermione threaded her way through the dancing crowd once more. Inexplicable happiness bubbled in her chest, warm and all-consuming, as her fingertips tingled pleasantly.  
  


A calloused hand clasped her wrist gently. “Hey, there you are!” Ron said over the loud music, offering her a lopsided smile. “Is everything alright? We were getting worried bout you... you’ve been gone for quite some time.”

  
“No, _you_ were getting worried,” clarified Ginny dryly, appearing behind her brother. With a deadpan expression, she looked at Hermione and sighed. “Seriously, he’s been talking about you all the bloody time. It was getting annoying.”

  
Ron shrugged. “Excuse me for being worried about my—” he cleared his throat awkwardly, looking away from Hermione’s suddenly cold eyes. “For being worried about ‘Mione— that girl was damn rude, you know? Probably a Slytherin...”

  
Hermione crossed her arms and drummed her fingers on her elbow. “Don’t cast aspersions on my students, Ronald Weasley,” she warned. “Miss Black just wanted to... to talk about the winter break assignments and the upcoming exams, is all.”

  
“Know-it-all,” snickered Ginny under her breath, artfully ignoring Hermione’s glare. 

  
“Wait, did you say _Black?_ ” Ron mumbled looking around the dancefloor with narrowed eyes. “Blimey, ‘Mione! She didn’t hex you, did she?”  
  


An incredulous chuckle rolled off Hermione’s lips. “I— excuse me? Why would a _student_ ever hex me?”  
  
  
“I-I dunno. We both know what happened when... y’know,” he said softly, voice thick with emotion. Concern shone brightly within his blue eyes, both revolting and amusing. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

**_  
“Why do people fear you?”_ **

**_  
“For the same reason as you, Professor Granger.”_ **

  
Taking a deep breath, Hermione stepped forward and squared her shoulders. “What are you implying?” she whispered dangerously low, spotting a mane of black curls somewhere far behind him, and raised a hand before he could say anything whatsoever. “I can take care of myself just fine, Ronald Weasley— besides... didn’t I just tell you _not_ to cast aspersions on my students? You don’t know them at all!”  
  
  
“I—” he swallowed hard, scratching the back of his neck. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you. You’re right, I don’t know your students— listen, I’ve seen what you’re capable of, ‘Mione. I know you can defend yourself... I’m just worried about you, is all.”  
  
  
“There’s no need to. Everything’s fine, thank you very much,” said Hermione icily, walking towards Ginny like a woman on a mission. “Go for a stroll and get some fresh air, Ronald.”

  
And with that being said, Hermione gently pulled Ginny into the dancing crowd and fled the scene. White-hot rage ran through her veins, wild and unrestrained. 

  
_How dare he!?  
  
  
_ “Attagirl!” Ginny laughed when they reached the beverages table again. “Did you see the look on his face? That was bloody brilliant.”

  
Hermione smiled weakly, reaching for some orange juice with shaky hands.

  
“Oi, are you okay?”

  
“Fine, just—” a frown, a soft groan. “Why is he like that? Why is he so quick to jump to conclusions all the bloody time?”  
  
  
Ginny smiled, patting her shoulder reassuringly. “It’s fine, Hermione. You know how my brother can be sometimes... but I agree with you! He shouldn’t have insulted your girlfriend. That was _way_ out of line.”

  
Hermione choked on her drink and stared at Ginny wide-eyed. “You— my— what are— for God’s sake, Gin, she’s my student!”

  
“Right... and I’m a natural blonde,” the redhead jested dryly. “Girl, your face lit up when she came looking for you! You’ve been away for more than an hour—” she said, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively for emphasis. “You came back _blushing_ and smiling like an idiot, Hermione. You jumped to her defence back there, no questions asked... and she _totally_ checked you out.”

  
“Ginny,” whispered Hermione carefully, her throat dry all of a sudden. “We just talked— things have been really awkward between us. We talked and found some common ground, that’s it.” Unfortunately, Ginny didn’t look all that convinced. “Besides, I’m not interested in relationships right now. I don’t even like—”  
  


“Hold it!” Ginny said, smiling knowingly, as she pointed her index finger at her. “Hermione Jean Granger, don’t you dare say you _don’t_ fancy witches. Remember your humongous crush on Fleur during the Triwizard Tournament?”  
  
  
Hermione swallowed nervously, her face as red as her dress. “What are you— I did _not_ have a crush on Fleur! I just— I simply admired her magical abilities! She single-handedly put an enraged dragon to sleep. All on her own! Her magic alone put that apex predator to sleep, Ginny. You can’t deny she’s a brilliant and very talented witch.”

  
“Denial doesn’t suit you, my friend,” said Ginny, shaking her head in mock exasperation. “I spy with my little eye a pattern.”

  
“I— excuse you?”  
  
  
“Hello, you two!” Sirius stepped in casually, reaching for the egg-nog. “Just making sure that my second favourite ladies are alright— by the way, ‘Mione, you owe me ten galleons. Sadly, Minnie said a Ravenclaw spiked it... bloody brats.” That being said, he took a long sip of the beverage and sighed happily. “Now _that’s_ what I’m talking about... what were you two gossiping about, hmm? Something interesting happened?”

  
 _Ginny, don’t you even dare—  
  
  
_ “Ah, nothing much,” answered Ginny, smiling mischievously at Hermione. “Just talking about how ‘Mione has a type— Quidditch players and brilliant witches.”  
  
  
Sirius’ eyes widened, his mouth curving into a broad smirk. “Oh... so that’s why you wanted to talk with—”

  
“No!” Hermione said sharply, growing more and more flustered by the second. “Stop jumping into conclusions, for God’s sake!” Her voice cracked as frustrated tears welled up in her eyes. “ _All_ of you!” 

  
Ginny’s smile faltered as she noticed the tears shimmering in her friend’s eyes. “Hermione, I’m just joking... c’mere,” she whispered apologetically, stepping forward and spreading her arms wide. “I was trying to lighten up the mood... I’m sorry.”  
  
  
Hugging the redhead back, Hermione huffed and hid her face on the crook of Ginny’s neck, where she allowed herself to think about everything that had happened up until that very moment. 

  
Soon enough, a set of memories started playing behind her closed eyelids, betraying her previous words.  
  
  
A mane of black curls, flowing freely down pale shoulders. Tantalising carmine lips, smiling suavely at her. Enthralling silver eyes, carefully watching her every move. A raspy voice, sending delightful shivers running down her spine. A slim body underneath her hands, breathing hard and slow. 

_  
Fuck,_ thought Hermione sheepishly. _Perish that line of thought, Granger._

  
“Yeah, sorry about tha—” Sirius’ voice died off abruptly, a deep growl reaching their ears instead. “The fuck is Rita Skeeter doing here?”

  
Hermione pulled away and turned around, spotting Skeeter’s platinum blonde hair and her stupid velvety dress amidst the dancing crowd. An acid-green quill and an old-looking camera flew around her. Bile crawled up her throat, eyes narrowing in blatant disgust.

  
“Shit,” mumbled Sirius, sounding panicked all of a sudden. “Need to find Trixie, gotta warn Drommie. I’ll be back!”

  
“What is—” he dashed across the ballroom before Hermione could finish her question. Astonished and intrigued, the witches followed him at a distance and watched him closely from afar. Sirius eventually found Bellatrix and pulled her aside, whispering something into her ear. The raven-haired Slytherin nodded and rushed towards Andromeda, grabbing her wrist rather harshly and hissing something to her. The camera’s flash went off. As though scalded, the middle Black let go of Edward Tonks and walked away from him. Sending Skeeter a nasty look —an honest-to-God death glare that sent shivers running down Hermione’s spine—, Bellatrix ran after Andromeda.

  
Running her fingers along the calyx’s rim, Ginny frowned. “How weird... what was that about, Hermione?”

  
The Transfiguration professor chewed on her lip, her stomach up in endless knots. “I’ve got no idea...”

  
Where Rita Skeeter went, trouble soon followed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god, the next chapter is gonna kill me


	16. XVI: A very drunken Christmas night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly don't have any excuses for this. Things spiralled out of control at some point, sue me.

Much to Hermione’s blatant amusement, the Weasley family —minus Bill and Fleur, who’d left after shortly after lunch— and its honorary members got _completely_ hammered on Christmas night. The muggle-burn fully expected them to sing just a couple of carols, some of Celestina Warbeck’s and whatever awful tunes they’d come up with amidst their drunken stupor.   
  
  
Boy, was she wrong.  
  
  
 _I don’t even know what’s going on anymore,_ she thought with a ridiculously big grin. Her cheeks from smiling for hours on end.  
  
  
Fred and George jumped onto the couch, staggering a bit. They looked at each other, flashed identical smirks and started singing in unison.

_We’re no strangers to love_

_You know the rules and so do I_

_A full commitment’s what I’m thinking of_

_You wouldn’t get this from any other guy_

  
  


Hermione laughed hysterically, burying her flushed face in her hands. “This is all my fault,” she said without an ounce of shame or guilt. “I have ruined this poor, poor family forever.”  
  
  
Ginny rose from her seat next, jumping on the spot a couple of times.

_I just wanna tell you how I’m feeling_

_Gotta make you understand_

  
  
The entire Weasley family —plus Harry, Sirius and Remus— got up and waved their glasses aimlessly. _Good thing they’re empty,_ thought Hermione in wry amusement. She honestly didn’t feel like cleaning their drunken mess.

  
In outstanding synchrony, especially for a group of plastered wizards, they sang — _more like slurred—_ the following stanza.

_Never gonna give you up_

_Never gonna let you down_

_Never gonna run around and desert you_

_Never gonna make you cry_

_Never gonna say goodbye_

_Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you_

  
  
“Hey, ‘Mione...?” Ron whispered, tapping her on the shoulder gently. Unlike the rest of his family, he was only a little bit tipsy. “Can we please talk?”

  
Hermione sighed and took a long, long sip of her non-alcoholic beverage, weighing her options. “Alright,” she said as she glanced at the joyful family with undeniable fondness in her eyes. “What is it?”

  
Ron cleared his throat. “I— er... well... I was hoping we could talk in private.” He nodded at the kitchen behind them, smiling sheepishly. “Please...”  
  
  
“What do you want, Ronald?”  
  
  
Clearly nervous, he scratched the back of his head. “In the kitchen, please?”

  
Succumbing to intrigue and nostalgia, Hermione left her drink on the floor and rose from her seat. “Okay, lead the way,” she said, offering him a cordial smile.

  
  


_We’ve known each other for so long_

_Your heart’s been aching but you’re too shy to say it_

_Inside we both know what’s been going on_

_We know the game and we’re gonna play it_

  
  
Without uttering a single word, they entered the kitchen and leaned against opposite counters. The tension in the air was palpable and awkward, so Hermione looked around the tiny space nervously— and spotted a copy of _Witch Weekly_ on the wooden surface. Truth be told, she couldn’t understand why Molly kept paying for such horrid rubbish _monthly_... but, this time, the front page caught her eye. It was the picture Rita Skeeter had snatched during Yule Ball last night. _  
  
_  
 _Gossips sure work fast, huh? Absolutely revolting..._

  
Hermione studied the photograph; a small smile tugged at her pursed lips almost involuntarily. In the picture, Bellatrix rushed forward, grabbed Andromeda’s wrist rather harshly and whispered something into Andromeda’s ear, her hair covering her face quite conveniently. As though scalded, the middle Black sister let go of Edward Tonks and walked away from him in a heartbeat. The magically induced loop ended with Bellatrix’s death glare, the very one that made Hermione’s cheeks grow hot and her heart flutter, before rushing after her sister.  
  
_  
‘Andromeda Cassiopeia Black, second daughter of Cygnus and Druella Black (née Rosier) of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black, seen with a muggle-born at the Yule Ball. Lover or friend?’_

_  
Looks like that bloody beetle is at it again, ugh... doesn’t she get tired of stalking teenagers? Doesn’t she have anything better to do?_

Taking a deep breath, Hermione thrummed her fingers on the wooden surface and looked at Ron inquiringly. “Well...?”

  
“I wanted to apologise.”

  
Hermione tilted her head back a little, crossing her arms defensively over her chest. “Eight years.”

  
Ron blinked a couple of times, confused. “I— what?”  
  
  
“You threw eight years of friendship and trust out the window,” said Hermione calmly, masking her inner turmoil with some difficulty. Put on a pretty face, be strong for everyone else... _look where that's brought me. Pathetic, absolutely pathetic..._

  
The redhead exhaled through his nose, running a hand through his hair. He looked at her, tears shimmering in his eyes. “I know, ‘Mione, and I’m terribly sorry about that.”

  
“You accused me of cheating for no good reason,” continued Hermione, her collected voice growing harsh. Bitterness seeped through the old cracks of her mask, the ones she could no longer fix. “You let your insecurities cloud your reasoning. You screamed at me, you didn’t listen to what I had to say and you accused me of cheating.” 

  
“I did,” he answered softly. “I have no excuse for that.” 

  
Hermione hummed, hands tightening into fists. “You casted aspersions on my student because of her family name.”

  
  


_And if you ask me how I’m feeling_

_Don’t tell me you’re too blind to see_

  
  


“I know, I know... Ginny scolded me for doing that before you arrived in the morning,” admitted Ron quietly, head hanging low in shame. “I just— it’s just that— she was very rude and— I’m sorry about that...”  
  
  
“She’s just... very kooky,” said Hermione with a small smile, her four-year-long frustration slipping through her fingers rapidly. A significant part of her wanted to forgive him and welcome him into her life once again. “Do you really mean it? That you’re sorry about all those things? Be honest with me... and don’t make me use the _Oppugno Jinx_ again.”

  
Swallowing nervously, Ron glanced up and nodded with great fervour. “Yeah— I mean it, all of it,” he said, offering her a shy smile. “I promise.”

 _  
Words easily go with the wind,_ a weary voice warned her. 

  
Hermione looked at the gluttonous redhead boy she’d met in the Hogwarts Express about a decade ago, the headstrong boy she’d butted heads with countless times, the witty and loyal friend she’d fallen in love with throughout the years, the one she’d shared many things and firsts... and exhaled, unclenching her fists slowly but surely.  
  
  
“I believe you.”

  
  


_Never gonna give you up_

_Never gonna let you down_

_Never gonna run around and desert you_

_Never gonna make you cry_

_Never gonna say goodbye_

_Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you_

  
  


“R-Really?” The redhead asked weakly, tears running down his freckled cheeks. “That’s— thank you so much, ‘Mione.”  
  
  
Her mouth curved into a small yet sincere smile. “The war is over,” she whispered, “and I’m tired of holding grudges. Even though I’m still upset with you, I cannot stay _mad_ at you anymore... we’ve been through a lot together. The three of us.” Amused, Hermione nodded at a drunk Harry, who had ended up in Ginny’s lap somehow. “I want my friends back. I want my old friends back.”

  
Ron chewed on his lower lip. “Is there a chance we—”

  
 _Ah... here it is...  
_  
  
“Not really,” interjected Hermione quietly, thinking about silver eyes and rosy lips for a fleeting second. “That ship sailed a long, long time ago.”

  
“O-Oh...”

  
  


_No, I’m never gonna give you up_

_No, I’m never gonna let you down_

_No, I’ll never run around and hurt you_

_Never, ever desert you_

  
  


“I-Is there someone else?”

  
This time, unlike four years ago, he was actually uttering those words out of the goodness of his heart. 

  
“Honestly?” she wondered quietly, looking away from him. A suave smirk flashed behind her eyes, followed by that rare yet sincere smile she caught only on occasion. “I don’t even know anymore...”  
  
  
 _What are these feelings? Where did they even come from?_

  
Ron frowned, confused. “How come?”

  
Once again, Hermione started thrumming her fingers on the counter behind. Before she could stop herself, her traitorous mouth acted on its own accord and said, “I’m not sure how I feel...” Ashamed, she lowered her head and exhaled wearily. There, she’d said it. “And... I don’t know how they feel...” 

  
With a snort of amusement, Ron waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t say that,” he chuckled. “You’re an amazing person, ‘Mione. Anyone would love to be with you, even gits like me!”  
  
  
 _I wouldn’t be so sure about that..._

  
The raw sincerity that dwelt within his blue eyes, while greatly appreciated, was simply overwhelming. Looking away from him, Hermione pursed her lips thoughtfully and hummed quietly.

  
“Blimey, you’re actually serious!” Ron gasped, scratching his trimmed beard nervously. “How is he— I mean, how does he act around you?”

**_  
“Tell me something interesting.”_ **

**_  
“Be honest with me, that’s all I ask.”_ **

**_  
“I needed to know— so many questions, not enough answers. You are a conundrum, but I cannot for the life of me figure you out.”_ **

**_  
“Because I respected you... I still do.”_ **

  
Hermione rubbed her eyes, growing flustered by the second.  
  
  
 _What are you even doing, Hermione? Thinking about your student like— like that! It’s probably the alcohol— yeah, must be that._ “They pay attention to me... and listen to whatever I have to say...” she mumbled, heart fluttering incomprehensibly in her chest. “Could we— er... can we please talk about something else, please?”

  
Ron blinked twice. “O-Oh, sure!”

  
  


_We’ve known each other for so long_

_You’re heart’s been aching but_

  
  
“How’s everything at Hogwarts?” Ron asked, opening a cabinet and pulling two glasses out. He filled them with cold water and handed one to Hermione with a nervous smile. “Must be pretty boring without us around, huh?”  
  


“Hogwarts is anything but boring,” laughed Hermione, but it sounded somewhat forced. “Though... I’m actually convinced that wizards have a natural talent for pyrotechnics. There’s always someone blowing things up during my classes somehow.”  
  
  
"Ah, just like Finnegan,” chuckled Ron. “What about Quidditch? Harry and Ginny said the Gryffindor team’s finally gotten an upgrade.”

  
Hermione hummed thoughtfully, taking a long sip of her water. “I suppose they did. They’re really good— but it doesn’t feel the same anymore, you know? No love lost there.”

  
Unsurprisingly, her heart and mind betrayed her mouth yet again. They did that an awful lot as of late. 

  
_**She gawked at the Slytherin captain, whose mastery of the broomstick was simply** breathtaking **.**_   
  
  
_**“BLACK’S FLYING UPWARDS— SPINS AROUND— wait, what’s that in her hand?” Riggs questioned as Hermione smiled broadly, her heart thrumming between her ears.** _

  
Ron chuckled and cracked a lopsided smile. “We definitely made things entertaining, ey? How’s the Quidditch Cup going?”  
  
  
“Slytherin won the first match, 200 to 60. They’ve got a really nice team,” said Hermione. “Bellatrix caught the Golden Snitch, nearly ran smack into the Gryffindor grandstands in the process.”

  
Ron tilted his head, frowning. “Bellatrix? Sounds... familiar, I guess?”

_  
Ah, shit._

  
“Bellatrix Black,” replied Hermione sheepishly, dreading his reaction. “The girl I talked with last night. She’s the Slytherin team’s captain and Seeker.” Ron nodded and took a long sip of his water, urging her to continue with some vague gesturing. “And Hufflepuff won the second match, 170 to 10... very evenly-matched, I’d say. Evan Fawley caught the Golden Snitch after an hour or so.”   
  
  
  


_Never gonna give you up_

_Never gonna let you down_

_Never gonna run around and desert you_

_Never gonna make you cry_

_Never gonna say goodbye_

_Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you_

  
  
“And— er... is everything alright?” Ron asked softly, tilting his head to the side. “Do your students treat you alright? I hope nobody’s got a problem with your background.”

  
Hermione rolled her eyes, understanding the not-so-hidden meaning behind his words right away. _Do your Slytherin students treat you alright? I hope they haven’t got a problem with your magical background... or lack thereof._  
  
  
“I was... really worried about that, to be honest. I doubted myself whenever I entered a classroom. But, surprisingly enough, everything’s... _fine_ ,” she reassured, plastering a polite smile on her face. “Things have finally changed for the better, I believe. Practically nobody cares about blood status anymore, you see. They all recognise that it matters not what someone is born, but what they grow to be.”

  
“Blimey...” Ron whispered into his glass. “It’s hard to believe, y’know? I cannot imagine a Slytherin being all nice and respectful, to be honest.” 

_  
Ah, there it is._

  
Shrugging one shoulder, Hermione left her glass on the counter. Her hands were shaking, but she didn’t even notice. “They’re— the Slytherins are—” she started hesitantly, a pair of silver eyes coming to mind, quickly followed by warm chocolate eyes and then ice-blue ones. William Greengrass’ ecstatic smile flashed behind her eyelids, soon replaced by Felix Rosier raising one arm after scoring a goal and Lucius Malfoy’s self-conscious grimaces upon answering a question wrong. “They’re no different from us, to be honest. They take pride in their House, are fiercely protective of one another, have hobbies and dreams... they’re actually nice when you get to know them.”

  
  


_No, I’m never gonna give you up_

_No, I’m never gonna let you down_

_No, I’ll never run around and hurt you_

_I’ll never, ever desert you_

  
  
“I guess you’re right...” Ron said, frowning again. “But at least we weren’t arrogant assholes, y’know?” He took another sip of his drink and shrugged. “At least _we_ fought in the Battle of Hogwarts.”  
  
  
Hermione chewed on her bottom lip, trying to keep her emotions in check. “I’ve actually come to understand them a bit better lately,” she started slowly. “Everyone believes that Slytherins are inherently evil, but that’s not the case. People associate wickedness and malice with the Slytherin name, but that’s not the case. They’re no different from us, you see. They’re sentient beings; they have dreams and hopes for the future, just like everybody else. They’re just... very misunderstood. And they did fight! They went home and brought reinforcements! It’s just that fighting in the Battle of Hogwarts from beginning to end would’ve meant—”  
  
  
With a guffaw, Ron exclaimed, “I can’t believe this! Trust our ‘Mione to sympathise with the bloody snakes that have made her life living hell for years.” 

  
He was right.   
  
  
On a logical level, Hermione _knew_ that he was absolutely _right._ A lot of Slytherin students —from past and present times, which included both the Death Eaters and Dark Lord— had made her life downright miserable. Belittling insults and comments in the hallways, her teeth being hexed back in fourth year, getting mocked by a _professor_ , actual torture and countless murder attempts... 

  
But Hermione also knew better now.  
  
  
“Well... indoctrination _is_ a very powerful and dangerous weapon,” she stated firmly, leaving no room for discussion. “If only someone had reached out to them sooner—”

  
“A-Are you trying to excuse their actions?”

  
  


Fred’s voice echoed throughout the whole Burrow, followed by everyone’s hysterical laughter. _“LET ME BE THE GIRL UNDER YOU THAT MAKES YOU CRY!”_

 _  
“I WANNA BE THAT—”_ continued George, seemingly out of breath.

  
  
Hermione inhaled deeply, thrumming her fingers on the counter once again. “I am _not_ trying to excuse _anyone’s_ actions. What they did was— simply unforgivable,” she replied dryly. “But hate begets hate, violence begets violence!”

  
“I just... don’t understand,” he said, scowling, “many, if not most, dark wizards and witches come from Slytherin. They’re the ones initiating conflict all the bloody time, Hermione. How can you possibly defend them?”  
  
  
The muggle-borns huffed and rubbed her temples tiredly. “I’m not defending _them_ , I’m defending my _students_. I have seen them suffer greatly because of their parents’ wrongdoings,” she admitted quietly. “That’s the reason why I’m defending them. Don’t get me wrong, I cannot forget or forgive what their predecessors have done... but those kids have done _nothing_ to deserve any of that.”

**_  
“Black’s gonna kill me... I’m so done for...” Vane whispered hoarsely, lowering his head. “Black’s gonna kill me... I’m so done for... Black’s gonna kill me—” he let out an earsplitting scream that made Hermione flinch. “DON’T CALL HER PARENTS, PLEASE!”  
_**

_  
_And outside the Prefects’ Bathroom a month ago, back when Hermione still didn’t know to approach Bellatrix Black, something interesting had happened.  
  
  
A reaction Hermione still thought about occasionally. 

**_“I do not fear you.”_ **

**_  
Even though her face remained impassive, Black’s silver eyes widened a tad. They shimmered with surprise, intrigue and something not dissimilar to disbelief—_ ** _disbelief!_

  
**_Taking one step forward with calculated slowness, Black smirked broadly._ **   
  
  
**_Hermione straightened her back almost defensively._ **   
  
  
**_“Really now...?” she drawled, raising an eyebrow. “You could’ve almost fo—”_ **   
  


**_“It’s true.”_ **

  
_Bellatrix was going to say “you could’ve almost fooled me”, I’m sure. Just how sad’s that? To believe everyone fears you because of something you’ve no control over whatsoever—_ and a mirthless chuckle rolled off her lips, bitter and dark, when she thought about their interactions in the library and the Transfiguration courtyard. _To hate someone because of the blood that runs through their veins! In the end, whether we like it or not, everything comes back to the exact same deeply-rooted problem._

  
“Those— those students, the ones with Death Eater relatives, are going through a really rough time,” she said sadly, thinking about disbelieving and mistrustful silver eyes. “Everyone avoids them like the plague. They’re treated with unsettling weariness and suspicion. They’re not bad. They’re not evil! They’re simply misunderstood by people like _you_ , people who assume the worst of others because of their families... people who refuse to put themselves in others’ shoes for a bloody minute.”  
  
  
“Woah, calm down!”

  
“I told you,” continued Hermione in a dangerously quiet voice. “Do not cast aspersions on _my_ students.”  
  
  


A few seconds later, Arthur Weasley spoke up from the living room. “Wait, wait! That song is too indecent— let’s sing another one. What’s the name of that one song? You know, the one that goes _‘blowing outside my window as I look around the room, and it makes me so depressed to see the gloom...’_ You know which one I mean?”

  
Ginny and Harry screamed at the same time at the top of their lungs, their voices cracking mid-way, _“THERE’S NOT A SOUL OUT THERE! NO-ONE TO HEAR MY PRAYER.”_

  
  


“Blimey, I’m sorry...”

  
Hermione shook her head. “An apology isn’t enough, Ronald!” she exclaimed, clenching her hands so tight that her knuckles turned white. “You cannot apologise and fuck things up the following moment. You cannot possibly believe that a mere _I’m sorry_ is going to fix everything.”

  
“What’s got your knickers in a twist?”

  
“Ignorants like you,” spat Hermione, taking one step forward abruptly. “If you refuse to see people for who they are, you are no better than them. Than those bigoted pure-bloods that thought themselves superior to everybody else because of their blood status. Those bigoted pure-bloods that hated those with ‘lesser blood’ running through their veins.”

  
Ron frowned, blushing a rich shade of red. “Don’t you dare compare me to those murderers!”

  
“Don’t you dare insult my students!” Hermione shouted back. “Ignorants like you probably drove ‘those murderers’ mad in the first place.”

  
“The hell is wrong with you?”

_  
Ah, back at it again._

  
“Some say that I sympathise too much, but I don’t really think so,” said Hermione scathingly. “One would think that the war had taught you an important lesson about what blind hatred and ignorance do to a person.”

  
Staring straight into angry blue eyes, Hermione walked towards the door. “Oh,” she said with feigned nonchalance. “You’re not letting me explain myself, by the way. _Again._ I thought we were over that— I thought you were sorry about that.”

  
With that being said, Hermione walked into the living room. The sight of her absolutely hammered family made her smile, alleviating the all-consuming pain in her chest with outstanding ease. Damn if she didn’t love those gingers —plus Harry, Remus and Sirius— to death.

  
Arthur and Molly were dancing together —surprisingly well, all things considered— by the fireplace whilst everyone else downed a shot of Firewhiskey in one go. Putting the small glasses aside, they raised their arms and took a deep breath. 

  
This time, Hermione joined their drunken singing.

  
  


_Gimme, gimme, gimme a man after midnight_

_Won’t somebody help me chase the shadows away_

_Gimme, gimme, gimme a man after midnight_

_Take me through the darkness to the break of the day_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hermione spitting facts and coming to terms with her feelings bit by bit all in one same chapter? Hell yes, sign me up.


	17. XVII: Three little Misses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _rubs hands_ only a couple more hours till January 1st... Is anyone else excited about the new year? 
> 
> And speaking about the new year... Have a nice New Year's Eve and an even better beginning of the year. Take care and have fun ;)

Slim fingers stroked her forearm aimlessly, the touch slow and feather-light. Dark blood seeped through the cursed gashes and stained her fingertips red, the gore unnaturally cold against her warm skin. Her fingers twitched, ancient magic tickling the muscles below and setting them alight.  
  
  
On days like these, miserable and stressful, the despicable carving would writhe and burn. The incurable incisions would twitch and crack apart; droplets of blood would run down her arm in endless rivulets. Tears would rush down her freckled cheeks, dripping from her quivering chin and splashing against the bloodstained skin.

  
“Hermione...”

  
Two strong hands rested atop her shoulders, massaging her tense muscles reassuringly. Their fingers dug deep into her skin, keeping her steady and grounded.

  
“I’m so sorry,” he said quietly. “I should have kept an eye on him...”

  
Words of ignorance, words of naked betrayal... cutting accusations thrown left and right, sharp as a knife. Once again, almost eight years of friendship and trust had been tossed aside without much care in the world. His insecure soul kept colliding with her tortured one, their different mindsets crashing against one another stubbornly.  
  
  
Her chapped lips curved into a sad smile, another round of tears leaping from her exhausted eyes. 

  
And her heart writhed for him, the little boy with doe-eyes and broken glasses who’d saved her life countless times. The little boy who loved Quidditch with a passion, always caught in the middle of their disputes somehow.

  
“It’s not your fault,” she mumbled. “I should have known better... Ronald cannot hold his alcohol for shit.”

  
The soothing hands retreated, worsening the endless void in her heart.  
  
  
Tentatively, the other moved around and knelt in front of her. His green eyes fell upon bloodstained skin, shimmering with hurt and demolishing sympathy.

  
“Hermione...” he whispered again, holding her left hand with utmost gentleness. “I... the twins are holding a firework festival at Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes later today. You know, to celebrate New Year’s Eve and whatnot—” his mouth twitched, sad features softening even further. “Ginny and I will stop by in two hours or so. Would you like to come and watch the fireworks with us?”

  
“I’m not great company at the moment, I’m sorry,” replied Hermione in a defeated voice. A pang of longing tore her heart in two. “But thank you for asking.”

  
His hand closed around hers, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Nonsense,” said Harry softly. Green eyes met golden ones. “You’re always great company, even when you’re rambling about _Hogwarts: A History_ or speaking about—” the muggle-born whacked him weakly, mouth curving into a small yet sincere smile. “I don’t want you to be alone, Hermione...”

  
“I wouldn’t be alone,” the witch whispered hoarsely, her smile faltering a tad. “Molly and Arthur are staying here—”

  
“To give Ron a piece of their mind,” interjected Harry quietly. “Come on, Hermione... we could go to Flourish and Botts, get some hot chocolate... c’mon, ‘Mione, it’s our first New Year’s Eve together after so long...”

  
And her heart writhed in sympathy for him, for the little boy with doe-eyes and broken glasses that had gone through so much. “Do you really want me to be there?”

  
His mouth twitched, happiness and love shining bright within his eyes. “Of course,” he replied, hand travelling up and caressing her nasty scar. Warmth broke through its coldness, so foreign yet so welcome. “We want to celebrate the new year with our friend—” a pause, a sheepish smile. “With our sister.”

  
Tears welled up in her eyes, falling down her cheeks in rivulets. “Well…” Her voice, thick with emotion, cracked almost painfully. “I-I guess... alright, I’ll go with you.”

  
“Really?” He asked, face lighting up. “That’s— Hermione, that’s brilliant. Thank you!”

  
The muggle-born ruffled his hair, a wide smile stretching her lips and warming her eyes, and hugged him tightly. He smelled like Ginny’s perfume, a touch of Firewhiskey and cinnamon— she focused on the last scent, familiar and soothing.

  
“I’m going to take a shower,” she said softly, pulling away from him. “And then we can go to Flourish and Botts, get that hot chocolate...”

  
His bubbly laughter echoed throughout the Burrow, bouncing off the walls and reaching Hermione’s ringing ears. Following her close and keeping her warm.

  
“We’ll be in the living room,” he announced, getting up and dusting off his trousers. “Take your time.”

  
  


* * *

  
  


As always, Diagon Alley was brimming with life. 

  
Wizards and witches of all ages sauntered down the crowded streets, giggling and chatting enthusiastically. Greeting them three with thinly veiled glee. Pointing at shop windows— robes, telescopes, barrels of bat spleens and eels’ eyes, tottering piles of spell books, quills and rolls of parchment, potion bottles, globes of the moon… Happiness and unconcern floated in the air, swayed by innocent laughter and playful banter.

  
“Those kids love you,” commented Ginny, snickering into her ear. A small group of students, two second-year Gryffindors and a third-year Ravenclaw, waved at her from afar. “How cute— they look like overly excited puppies.”

  
“Until they start blowing things up,” replied Hermione, waving back at her students with a warm smile. “Or hexing themselves by mistake.”

  
Ginny chuckled and wiggled her eyebrows suggestively, lips curving into a barely-there smirk. “Is your girlfriend like that—” the muggle-born nearly choked on her beverage. “Just kidding, just kidding!”

  
Hermione looked away, cheeks alight. “Hilarious...”

  
“Hermione’s got a girlfriend?” Harry asked softly, genuine curiosity shimmering in his eyes. Flashing a sheepish smile, he scratched the back of his head. “That’s cool. I’m happy for you! But— er, why didn’t you tell us?” 

  
“Because there’s nothing to tell,” hissed Hermione, desperately trying not to think about silver eyes and dazzling smirks. About a slim, pale hand caressing her marred forearm after a lovely dance with no music. About the quiet apology that rolled off rosy lips, impossibly sincere and heartrending. A pained _‘I should have_ _done something to prevent this’_ whispered into the cold wind. “Ginny is just— imagining things, is all.” 

  
Her words lacked conviction.

  
“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, ‘Mione!” Ginny said, walking towards Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes with a knowing smile. “I had a massive crush on Fleur, Harry had a thing for Diggory— there’s nothing wrong with swinging for the same team.”

  
The muggle-born gawked at them, processing the information haltingly. “You... I-I thought you hated Fleur!” Ginny snickered and shrugged nonchalantly. Golden eyes narrowed, scanning Harry’s face gravely. “Why didn’t you tell me about your crush on him, Harry James Potter?”

  
His shoulders slumped. “I— well, things were a mess back then,” he laughed nervously. “I— my cousin Dudley teased me one day. Asked me if Cedric was my boyfriend—” his smile turned grim for a second. “That’s when I realised... things went downhill from then on. Y’know, the trial, Umbridge’s reign of terror, running Dumbledore’s Army, the skirmish at the Department of Mysteries... telling you never really crossed my mind, sorry.”

  
Hermione exhaled through her nose, stepped forward and hugged him close. “No, _I_ am sorry—” he laughed weakly, patting her back. “I should have been more considerate.”

  
“Don’t worry— seriously, don’t. It’s no use crying over spilt milk,” replied Harry. “Come on, let’s see what the twins are up to.” He pulled away, nodded at Hermione and rushed into the shop with a mischievous smile on his face.

  
Before the muggle-born could follow him, Ginny grabbed her wrist gently. “Hey, I’m really sorry if my jokes are making you uncomfortable,” she admitted quietly. “I just wanted to lighten the mood... you were awfully quiet back there, I was worried about you.”

  
“It’s alright,” whispered Hermione. Her mouth betrayed her mind. “I— can you keep a secret?” 

  
The redhead gasped, placing her free hand atop her heart rather dramatically. “You wound me, Hermione Jean Granger. I’m hurt—” a playful shove, a pointed look. “My lips are sealed, promise.”

  
Hermione swallowed hard, nervous all of a sudden. Her heart thundered between her ears, muffling the passers-by cheerful conversations. 

  
“I don’t know...” Hermione chewed on her lower lip, struggling to find the appropriate words. “I-I don’t know how I feel anymore. About... about Bellatrix. And I’m very confused...”

  
Ginny nodded. “You’ll figure it out,” she promised softly. “You’re Hermione Granger, you _always_ figure things out—” a reassuring squeeze, a bright smile. “Come on, let’s go inside before The Boy Who Lived Twice gets worried and comes looking for us.”

  
They entered the crowded shop hand-in-hand, marvelling at the sight. Countless fireworks went off harmlessly all around the place on occasion, a beautiful shower of sparks fluttering lazily down the air. The costumers cheered, their contagious laughter resonating through the whole establishment. 

  
“Damn,” laughed Ginny. “My brothers have outdone themselves.”

  
A pleasant fragrance tickled Hermione’s nostrils— cinnamon, sandalwood and a touch of perfume. Freshly mown grass, new parchment and strong coffee. The scent made her smile.

  
“Hello, ladies...” two familiar voices chorused somewhere behind them. “Good to see you round here again, Hermione.” 

  
The muggle-born turned around slowly, coming face to face with the Weasley twins. “Fred, George,” she greeted warmly. “Looks like your business is going well.”

  
“Surely you exaggerate,” Fred laughed.

  
“This is but a normal day,” continued George. 

  
Ginny sighed and shook her head. “You should see this place on Valentine’s day and April Fool’s,” she smirked broadly at her brothers. “Dreadful, absolutely dreadful!”

  
“We can be your greatest allies,” said Fred whilst pulling her into a sideways hug, nodding at a couple of Gryffindor students who were sniffing some _Amortentia_ bottles and growing red in the face.

  
George smiled devilishly, throwing an _Aviatomobile_ up in the air without much decorum. “Or your worst nightmare, your pick.”

  
“I refuse!” Hermione squeaked, dodging an incoming _Umbridge on Unicycle._ The toy chanted _‘I will have an order’_ and _‘I really hate children’_ over and over, worming an amused chuckle out of Hermione. “McGonagall will deal with your pranks, not me.”

  
The twins snickered, flashing identical smirks. 

  
“Clever, Hermione!” George said, rubbing his hands. 

  
“But not clever enough,” continued Fred, pulling an _Extendable Ear_ out of his pocket. “McGonagall may be Headmistress now, but a little bird—”

  
“More like a scruffy dog—”

  
Wiggling his eyebrows, Fred inserted the string-like device in his ear with a flourish. “Told us you’re the Head of Gryffindor now. Good luck, Hermione, you’re definitely gonna need it.”

  
George stepped forward, grinning wide. “Looks like the brave lions these days have a penchant for pranks, you see.”

  
“Ah-ah-ah. Not just the lions, Georgie!” Fred snickered, nodding at a bunch of Hufflepuffs that had surrounded poor Harry at the back of the shop. He glanced up and smirked at a few Ravenclaws, who were trying some _Headless Hats._ “The little badgers and clever ravens like to play as well.”

  
His twin nodded fervently. “Even the cunning snakes buy our products nowadays,” he feigned a nasty shudder. “The world really has changed, huh?”

  
Ginny snorted, playing with a _Weather in a Bottle_ somewhat distractedly. “You’d be surprised,” she snickered quietly. “McGonagall’s had more than one scare lately. The joke products aren’t necessarily dangerous, but students get carried away and cross the line here and there.” The redhead explained, waving her hands around for emphasis. “Good thing you haven’t bought the Zonko’s store at Hogsmeade just yet, poor McGonagall would flip out.”

  
“Retirement here I come,” sang Fred dreamily, smirking.

  
“I am so done,” continued George, dancing lightly. “Retirement here I come!”

  
Then, a small house-elf appeared out of nowhere. Shockingly enough, the creature wore a dark blue suit— Hermione blinked a couple of times, staring at the house-elf in disbelief for a couple of seconds.

  
“Is they Weasley & Weasley’s owners?” The creature squeaked, smiling at Fred and George nervously. “Icky is the loyal house-elf of The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. Icky is here to collect Miss Bellatrix’s order!”

  
Bewildered, the four humans gawked at the poor house-elf in awkward silence.

  
“Oh!” Icky exclaimed, rummaging for something. “Icky is having the money!” They said enthusiastically, pulling at least fifteen galleons from their pockets.

  
“Alright, wait here...” Fred stated wearily, still in shock, while George collected the golden coins one by one. “We’ll get her order right away.”

  
When the twins disappeared, Hermione addressed the small house-elf. “Er— Icky, right? Why are you here?”

  
Icky turned around, looking at Hermione with unblinking blue eyes. They gasped, lips curving into a wide smile. “You is Hermione Granger, the muggle-born witch that helped defeat He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named!”

  
Ginny snickered, bumping shoulders with Hermione playfully. “Damn, looks like you’ve got a fan club, ‘Mione! First the students, now the house-elves... I’m so jealous of you.”

  
“Dobby told Icky all about Miss Hermione Granger!” The little house-elf continued excitedly, jumping on the spot a couple of times. Then, their movements came to an abrupt halt. “O-Oh... Icky is really sorry about what Master Cygnus Black did to Miss Hermione Granger.”

  
Hermione swallowed hard, unpleasant shivers running down her spine. Her hands got cold and clammy in a heartbeat. Ginny wrapped an arm around her, keeping her steady and grounded. Grateful, Hermione nodded at the redhead before looking at the small house-elf again. “I— er, not your fault.”

  
“Oh, you is having a huge heart, Miss Hermione Granger!” Icky said, nodding with great fervour. Their large ears flopped up and down hilariously. “Still, Icky is so sorry. You is a very strong elfling! Icky knows what happened, Miss Bellatrix had nightmares after—” they covered their mouth hastily, eyes widening almost comically. “Icky shouldn’t have said that. Icky shouldn’t have said that…”

  
Interestingly enough, the little house-elf stood there deadly still. Not committing self-harm of any sort. 

  
“Icky, it’s alright…” Hermione reassured softly, kneeling before the nervous house-elf. Her heart writhed in sympathy for her student. _Nightmares! That’s awful... I-I should’ve known. Bellatrix was thirteen back then. So, so young... and scared out of her mind, too._ “Don’t worry, we haven’t heard anything. Right, Ginny?”

  
“Heard what, ‘Mione? I didn’t hear a single thing.”

  
Hermione nodded, smiling at Icky warmly. “Are you here on your own, Icky?”

  
Removing their hands from their mouth, Icky nodded fervently. “Icky is alone, yes. Icky is here to collect some Weasleys’ Wildfire—” their voice died off, a frown appearing on their wrinkly forehead. “Weasleys’ Wildfire… W-Weasleys’ Wildfire...”

  
“Weasleys’ Wildfire Whiz-Bangs?” Ginny supplied helpfully, kneeling next to Hermione.

  
“Yes!” Icky cried out happily. “Icky is here to collect some Weasleys’ Wildfire Whiz-Bangs for the three little Misses!”

  
Ginny tilted her head to the side. “Misses?”

  
“Miss Bellatrix, Miss Andromeda and Miss Narcissa!” Icky explained, their mouth curving into a wide smile again. “The little elflings cannot go out, so Icky is here to collect the Weasleys’ Wildfire Whiz-Bangs for them!”

  
“They cannot go out?” Hermione repeated incredulously, face creasing with confusion. 

  
Icky nodded sadly. “The little Misses is doing unforgivable, unforgivable things. Little Bellatrix and little Andromeda.” Tears welled up in unblinking blue eyes. “Master is furious, so furious with the little elflings! They cannot go out—” 

  
Fred and George appeared behind Icky, holding a medium-sized box. “The order!” They chorused together. 

  
“Say hello to Bellatrix for us,” said Fred with a smirk, handing the house-elf a small note.

  
“And tell her to stop by!” George continued, giving Icky the change. Five Galleons, twelve Sickles and four Knuts. “With her sisters, preferably! They’re our best costumers!”

  
The house-elf grabbed the box, nodded fervently and smiled at the Weasley twins. “Icky will, thanks! Goodbye, Miss Hermione Granger!” The house-elf clapped their fingers and disappeared from view. 

  
Hermione frowned, going over Icky’s words carefully. _Unforgivable, unforgivable things… Bellatrix and Andromeda…_ The muggle-born yelped when Ginny patted her shoulder, Harry behind her again. Her friends looked worried— _fuck, way to go!_

  
“Hey there…” The redhead whispered carefully, helping Hermione to her feet. “You spaced out for a moment— are you alright, ‘Mione?”

  
“Er— sorry I disappeared back there,” Harry said sheepishly, trying to make eye contact with Hermione. “The kids were holding me back— what did I miss?”

  
Hermione rubbed her eyes tiredly, offering them a barely-there smile. “Nothing, I simply got lost in thought—” seeing the raw concern shimmering in her best friends’ eyes, Hermione sighed and nudged them both weakly. Playfully. “Nothing bad, I promise. Just… Wondering what happened to house-elves after the war.”

  
“Things didn’t change much,” admitted Harry quietly. “Hurting house-elves is no longer allowed, but that’s about that. They like it— serving families. There’s not much that could have been done for them.” He smiled, shrugging one shoulder. “Regardless, they’re happy. And that’s what matters.”

  
“Hey, you three!” The twins exclaimed, waving their arms. “What’s up with the long faces? The firework festival is about to start!”

  
The three friends followed them outside, where a large gathering was waiting excitedly. 

  
Fred and George rubbed their hands, walking towards various — _five? ten?_ — boxes of Weasleys’ Wildfire Whiz-Bangs with matching smirks. “As always, the show will begin when the countdown starts!”

  
Together, they casted a huge _Tempus_.

  
Thirty seconds.

  
Hermione exhaled, eyes fluttering shut. _A new year… another chance to start over with a clean slate. Let bygones be bygones, perhaps._ A small yet strong hand slipped into hers. “Don’t worry,” the muggle-born whispered. “I’m alright, just thinking about new year resolutions.”

  
“Good, but don’t think too hard!” Ginny snickered, bumping shoulders again. “You’ll miss the show if you get lost in thought again.”

  
Chapped lips curved into a small yet sincere smile. “Don’t worry,” she said softly. 

  
“Ten!”

 _  
I’m going to get better,_ thought Hermione. Golden eyes blinked open, examining her surroundings calmly. _The war is over, I’m tired of holding grudges._

  
“Five!”

_  
I want to forgive myself._

  
“Four!”

_  
I want to be happy again— I want to love myself again._

  
“Three!”

_  
I want to watch a Holyhead Harpies’ match, cheer for Ginny until my voice dies._

  
“Two!”

_  
I want to see my students succeed._

  
“One!”

_  
I want to figure her out._

  
“HAPPY NEW YEAR!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally got this chapter out of the way, let the drama begin _evil laugh_
> 
> P.S: I actually made myself sad with this chapter


	18. XVIII: The madness within.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kinda took some liberties since there's no information about Narcissa’s, Andromeda’s and Ted’s wands; so here you go:
> 
>   
> Bellatrix’s wand: made of Walnut, 12¾” long, has a dragon heartstring core, unyielding. Looks like a damn claw for some reason— she’s gonna claw our eyes out... _whispers_ she’s as straight as her wand wbk
> 
> Andromeda’s wand: made of Redwood (are strongly attracted to witches and wizards who already possess the admirable ability to fall on their feet, to make the right choice, to snatch advantage from catastrophe), 11” long, has a unicorn tail hair core, pliable.
> 
> Narcissa’s wand: made of Mahogany (The mahogany tree symbolises strength, safety, protectiveness, and practicality), 11¾” long, has a phoenix feather core, flexible.
> 
> Ted’s wand: made of Willow (their ideal owner often has some [usually unwarranted] insecurity, however, well they may try and hide it), 10¼ long, has a unicorn tail core, flexible.

The pure-blood was gaunt, dreadfully pale.  
  
  
Her silver eyes fluttered closed more often than not, exhaustion written all over her scrawny face with pronounced strokes and bold letters. Even from afar, one could easily see those dark rings beneath her lifeless eyes. Her body swayed, seemingly unable to hold its own weight at times.

  
Nobody seemed to notice.

  
Andromeda gently pushed a medium-sized bowl toward her older sister, a nervous smile on her face. She muttered something, but Hermione couldn’t hear from afar. Not when the Great Hallway brimming with endless happiness and laughter, countless students chatting about their winter break and family traditions.

  
After a couple of seconds, Bellatrix finally accepted the bowl and took a few sips of the broth under Andromeda’s watchful eye. As she started coughing, Narcissa nodded at her and handed her a calyx with tentative determination.

_  
Alright... what the hell is going on?  
_

  
“Earth to Hermione,” said Sirius, squeezing her tense shoulder. “You okay there? You’ve barely touched your dinner.”  
  
  
The muggle-born looked down, golden eyes falling upon her full bowl of chicken broth. “Yes, don’t worry,” she replied quietly. “I was just— thinking about all the assignments I have to collect throughout the week.”

  
Sirius snorted, rolling his eyes good-naturedly. “You’re such a hardworking witch,” he laughed. “Always thinking about exams, classes and assignments.”

  
“That’s not true,” hissed Hermione playfully, glancing at the Black sisters again. They seemed to be in the middle of a heated discussion— sharp glares, wild gestures, haughty sneers. “I sometimes think about Crookshanks Junior, you know?”

  
Bellatrix looked up, meeting Hermione’s curious gaze for a fleeting moment. The muggle-born smiled, but the pure-blood looked away hastily. Her body shuddered and her pale hands clenched atop the Slytherin table.

  
Much to Hermione’s surprise, Andromeda glanced up as well. Her lips curved into a half-smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. They shimmered with something akin to exhaustion and remorse. Her smile soon faltered. After a second or two, she looked away and faced her sisters again.

  
Hermione frowned, intrigued. “Sirius… aren’t your cousins acting a bit weird?”

  
Sirius shrugged, a grimace stretching his lips. “They’re always like this after winter break,” he explained quietly. “Can you blame them? Going back to that loveless mansion and spending two weeks with those bloody snakes...” Acid dripped from his voice, scathing and ruthless. “Don’t worry, they’re going to be fine. Just give them a day or two.”

  
Unconvinced, the muggle-born nodded.

  
The following morning, Bellatrix was nowhere to be seen.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


Never-ending whispers echoed throughout the grand Transfiguration classroom, bouncing off the old walls and reaching Hermione’s disbelieving ears.

_  
“Think she tortured another first-year?”_

  
Her face creased with worry, golden eyes widening and narrowing thoughtfully. A sense of dread settled in the depths of her stomach.

_  
“Or maybe someone’s familiar, who knows?”_

  
They all talked about the exact same thing, just like broken records. The whispers became louder, heavy with fright and amusement.

_  
“Completely gone in the head.”_

  
Hermione looked at Andromeda, who was shaking— and crying silent tears, redwood wand in hand. Her bottom lip quivered almost imperceptibly, chocolate brown eyes focused on her recently transfigurated water goblet. Beside her, Lucius Malfoy swallowed hard and looked around nervously.

  
“Me little brother is a Slytherin,” announced Hestia Lynch, a rather haughty Ravenclaw, with a broad smirk. “Said you could hear Black’s cackles _anywhere_ in the Common Room. Told you, the bitch is crazy!”

  
Andromeda staggered to her feet, pointing her wand at her giggling classmates. Fear crossed their faces. “C’mon, say that again,” she snarled. The tip of her wand glowed yellow. “Fucking say that again, Lynch!”

  
“Miss Black, put your wand down!” Hermione said imperiously, taking some steps towards Andromeda. The young witch grimaced and glanced at Hermione— there was a lifelong pain in her taut features which quickly morphed into reluctance and bitterness. “Please, put your wand down…”

  
Lynch snorted. “They’re bloody crazy, the three of them!”

  
“Go fuck yourself, you malformed harpy…” Andromeda replied quietly, sheathing her wand with shaky hands. The middle Black sister stormed out of the classroom, leaving her belongings behind without a second thought.

  
“Not a word,” warned Hermione coldly, thinking about Andromeda’s pained expression. The raw hurt dwelling within those chocolate brown eyes. “Thirty points from Ravenclaw and Slytherin—” the students from said Houses moaned, glaring daggers at each other. “For the love of God… you are classmates, you should respect one another. Haven’t you learned _anything_ from the war?”

  
Edward Tonks raised his hand, glancing at the doors every five seconds.

  
Threading a hand through her hair, Hermione exhaled through her nose. “Yes, Mister Tonks?”

  
“You’re a muggle-born, correct?” Tonks asked softly, twirling his willow wand nervously. “I was wondering… did your classmates ever discriminate against you because of your family background?”

  
The _‘Mudblood’_ carving roared back to life— thankfully, the gashes didn’t crack open this time.

  
“I— yes, countless times… things were very different back then. Way more complicated,” Hermione explained grimly, sauntering down the classroom. Everyone’s eyes were on her, young and curious. “For one reason or another, we all hated each other. Gryffindor and Slytherin, pure-bloods and muggle-borns, pure-bloods and blood-traitors…”

  
The Slytherin students looked away, visibly uncomfortable.  
  
  
“Indoctrination is a very powerful and dangerous weapon, you see. A lifetime of indoctrination and bigoted beliefs can ruin anyone, even the purest of souls. Hate begets hate—”

  
“Violence begets violence, toughness begets a greater toughness. We must meet the forces of hate with the power of love,” finished Tonks excitedly. “Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.” He smiled sheepishly, giving his wand another twirl. “That’s what Martin Luther King Jr. said during the late 50s and early 60s...”

  
Hermione smiled warmly. “That is correct. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that,” she repeated. “We’ve all got both light and dark inside us. What matters is the part we choose to act on. That’s who we really are—” the Slytherin students glanced up, looking immensely grateful. “All hearts harbour love and dread. All blood runs red at the end of the day. Deep down, we’re all the same.”

  
With a sigh, the Transfiguration professor glanced at the clock. “Class dismissed,” she stated reluctantly. “Practice the _Vera Verto_ spell. I will evaluate you tomorrow—” a collective groan echoed through the classroom. “Good luck, have a nice day.”

  
Everyone left right away— except for Edward Tonks, who was eyeing Andromeda’s belongings with a worried expression.

  
“You can go now,” said Hermione, nodding at him reassuringly. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye on her things.”  
  
  
Tonks made a face, as though considering his options. “Professor Granger... I— nevermind, thank you for today.” He rose from his seat and threw his backpack around his shoulder begrudgingly. “I really mean it. Have a nice day and... see you around.” He flashed a smile and exited the classroom, not without looking back at Andromeda’s belongings one last time. 

  
Roughly fifteen minutes later, Andromeda strode into the Transfiguration classroom again. Eyebrows furrowed, mouth set in a hard line, jaw clenched tight, hands inside her pockets— the Blacks all looked the same when upset, Hermione realised somewhat distractedly.

  
“I’m not gonna apologise for my behaviour,” Andromeda stated, walking towards her desk. Her nonchalant attitude was blatantly forced. “I did nothing wrong.”

  
“You pointed your wand at a classmate,” countered Hermione, “and you insulted her.”

  
Andromeda raised an eyebrow, tossing her _Intermediate Transfiguration_ book inside her satchel without much care. “I was provoked. Lynch insulted my sister for no good reason—” a grimace tugged at her pursed lips, the lifelong pain returned to her eyes. “Don’t tell me you approve of her actions— her words!”

  
Hermione stepped forward. “Absolutely not.”

  
“If that’s the case…” Andromeda hissed bitterly, crumpling a piece of parchment. “Why didn’t you do anything, Professor Granger? _You_ let them talk, _you_ let them slander Bella!”

  
Golden eyes widened in surprise.   
  
  
“You let them talk!” Andromeda repeated accusingly, her voice dropping an octave, as she twirled her silver ring left and right. There seemed to be a carving on its surface, but Hermione couldn’t see it quite properly. For whatever reason, the situation felt oddly and awfully familiar. “You should have stopped them... why didn’t you stop them?”  
  
  
Andromeda screamed in frustration, slamming her open hand against the desk. Her fingers curled around its edge, gripping the table tightly. “Those— those bloody idiots have been speaking ill of Bella for years. All because of that bloody Boggart incident! They’ve been calling her hideous names behind her back. Spewing awful lies back and forth when they don’t know shit!” she cried out, her breathing growing erratic. A heartrending sob danced off her quivering lips. “They’ve been calling her deranged for years. Saying she’s a Death Eater in training. A sadistic bitch who finds pleasure in torture and— and pain... my sister’s not like that!”

  
Blinking back tears of her own, Hermione placed a hand on Andromeda’s shoulder and squeezed reassuringly. The skin beneath was impossibly tense. “Andromeda—”

  
“I’m so sick and tired of this...” she whispered hoarsely, smacking the desk weakly. “My sister _may_ have a problem, but she is not—” and her chocolate eyes looked up, desperate and pained, “Bellatrix is **not** crazy, Professor Granger. The rumours— they aren’t true.” 

  
Hermione nodded, flashing a sheepish smile. “I know,” she said softly. “Trust me, I have seen insanity countless times... I can tell when someone’s mad. Your sister isn’t.” She shrugged, face growing warm. “I have spoken with her outside of class. Your sister is... a highly intriguing and brilliant person.”

  
Andromeda swallowed hard, closing her satchel with shaky hands. “Do you really think so, professor? About the...”

  
“Of course.”

  
The pure-blood huffed and rubbed her tear-stained cheeks. Her mouth curved into a tiny yet sincere smile. “I can see why she likes you,” she muttered under her breath. “You see people for who they really are...”

  
“I—” she cleared her throat awkwardly, cheeks alight. “Thank you, Andromeda.” She thrummed her fingers on the desk, eyes narrowing contemplatively. “What happened? Why is everyone spreading rumours about your sister?”

  
With a snort of amusement, Andromeda threw her satchel around her shoulders and stepped away. “Professor, do you know where the Chamber of Secrets is?”

  
Taken aback, Hermione nodded. “What does that have to do with—”

  
“Where’s your sense of adventure?” Andromeda hummed, walking towards the doors unhurriedly. “You want answers, right? Go find them— oh, and keep your wand down at all times.”

  
Hermione gawked at her retreating form, speechless and bewildered. Andromeda stepped out of the classroom, turned right and disappeared from sight. Again, the situation felt oddly familiar.

  
After tidying the classroom up, Hermione marched to Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom with newfound determination. Her thoughts rushed at speeds unknown, a thousand hypotheses coming alive with every step she took. 

_  
Bellatrix is in the Chamber of Secrets,_ thought Hermione whilst pushing the doors open. _There’s simply no other explanation! But— how did she get down there!?_

  
“O-Oh, it’s you...” Moaning Myrtle said, whimpering loudly. “Haven’t seen you since the war,” she mumbled, flying around the sink in front of her toilet. The entrance to the Chamber of Secrets. “Are you here to make fun of me?”

  
“Of course not,” said Hermione, striding into the flooded bathroom. “I— well, I’m actually looking for a student. Slytherin robes, curly hair, silver eyes…”

  
Myrtle snickered. “Ooooh, you’re looking for Mad Bellatrix Black?”

  
“Mind your tone,” warned Hermione coldly, pointing her wand at Myrtle. “Have you seen her or not?”

  
“You’re no fun,” the ghost bemoaned, a couple of taps bursting open. “Everyone’s so mean to me—” she whimpered and sat on the sink. “Yes, I’ve seen her… Bellatrix came in a few hours ago screaming bloody murder. Half of the toilets blew up all of a sudden.” She pointed vaguely to the broken stalls. “I came out of my toilet, curious and scared. I heard her say something funny in that different language of yours. The sink disappeared, leaving a large pipe exposed. She jumped and the whole thing closed after a couple of minutes. She does that quite frequently, you see.”

  
Hermione frowned, kneeling in front of the sink. Her fingers caressed the tiny snake engraved on the copper tap, tracing its body slowly. 

  
“Thank you, Myrtle.”

  
Golden eyes fluttered close. _Alright, focus… you saw Ronald open the Chamber of Secrets… what did he say back then? Something like—_

  
A strange hissing rasped her throat, echoing throughout the bathroom. The copper tap glowed with a brilliant white light and began to spin. Next second, the sink disappeared out of sight and left a large pipe exposed, a pipe wide enough for a man to slide into it.

  
“Are you serious?” gasped Myrtle. “You’re going after her?” 

  
Hermione slowly lowered herself into the pipe, then let go.

  
It was like rushing down an endless, slimy and dark slide. She could see more and more pipes branching off in all directions, none as large as hers, which twisted and turned. They all sloped steeply downward. True to her memories, she was falling deeper and deeper and deeper below the school. Eventually, the pipe levelled out. She shot out of the end with a ted thud, landing on the damp floor of a dark stone tunnel large enough to stand in.

 _  
“Lumos!”_ Hermione said, examining her surroundings wearily and stepping forward. “Well— one thing’s for certain… This place hasn’t changed at all since my last visit.”

  
The tunnel was so dark that she could only see a little distance ahead. Her shadow on the wet walls looked monstrous in the wandlight.

  
Eventually, Hermione spotted the outline of something huge and curved, lying across the tunnel. It wasn’t moving. “That must be the Basilisk’s old skin…” she mumbled, remembering her first time down those tunnels. 

  
With a nervous sigh, she set off past the giant snakeskin.

  
The tunnel turned and turned again. Every nerve in Hermione’s body was tingling unpleasantly, her heart thundering between her ringing ears. At long last, as she crept around yet another bend, she saw a solid wall ahead on which two entwined serpents were carved. Their eyes were set with great, glinting emeralds.

 _  
If my hypothesis is indeed correct,_ thought Hermione nervously. _Bellatrix must be past this wall…_

  
“ _Open,_ ” hissed Hermione, staring into the snakes’ emerald eyes.

  
The serpents parted as the wall cracked open, the halves sliding smoothly out of sight. Shaking from head to toe, Hermione stepped forward— and froze when an unsettling cackle greeted her from afar.

  
Hermione swallowed hard, entering the chamber slowly. Towering stone pillars entwined with more carved serpents rose to support a ceiling lost in the darkness, casting long and black shadows through the odd, greenish gloom that filled the place. 

**_  
“You want answers, right? Go find them— oh, and keep your wand down at all times.”_ **

  
With great reluctance, Hermione sheathed her wand and ventured further into the Chamber of Secrets.

  
There, in front of Salazar Slytherin’s statue, stood Bellatrix Black. For once, her curls were gathered up in a loose bun held together by her crooked wand, but her uniform was a mess: both her work robes and sweater lay on the floor, getting wetter by the second, and her white shirt was wrinkled and dirty.   
  
  
Another cackle resonated through the disturbing place, doubling the student’s up.  
  
  
Hermione’s worry doubled in size.   
  
  
“Bellatrix?”  
  
  
The pure-blood turned around slowly, a sinister smile stretching her gaunt features, and huffed. After a few seconds, her silver eyes widened at tad and a high-pitched giggle rolled off her chapped lips. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?”  
  
  
As her voice literally thundered throughout the narrow chamber, a few pillars cracked and shattered into pieces, chunks of stone collapsing onto the floor around them. Magic rushed across the Chamber of Secrets, dangerous and unrestrained, but there wasn’t wand in sight. 

_  
Accidental magic,_ a frightened voice supplied. _Magical children are prone to using magic accidentally when feeling angry, scared or confused. Better be careful…_

  
Hermione swallowed hard. “Andromeda—”

  
Wrong move.  
  
  
Bellatrix stepped forward, still cackling uncontrollably. “Oh? My baby sister told _you_... how come?”

  
“Well—” she paused, golden eyes falling upon a red blotch on Bellatrix’s white shirt. Right above her heart. Had someone hurt her? Had Bellatrix hurt herself on the way down there? “Is that— Bellatrix, is that blood?” 

  
Again, wrong move.  
  
  
With a breathless cackle, Bellatrix pulled her walnut wand free and pointed at Hermione, who didn’t miss the way her arm trembled viciously. “Well? I asked you a question... ANSWER ME.”

  
This time, Salazar Slytherin’s statue cracked all over.

  
“It’s complicated...” Hermione said, holding her hands up good-naturedly. Trying to appease the enraged witch. “Someone spoke ill of you and—”  
  
  
And though Bellatrix’s eerie smile grew wider somehow, Hermione noticed it didn’t reach her eyes. “Ah, nothing new there,” she said whilst giggling childishly, taking two steps forward. Hermione could now see that the blotch in question was dark red in colour. “Mmmm... let me take a wild guess. This _someone_ was calling me mad, a deranged bitch. Anything of the like, really. They were saying that I tortured a poor, defenceless kid... and my dear sister snapped.”   
  
  
Hermione nodded solemnly, taking a step forward with unyielding determination. 

  
Tears shimmered in Bellatrix’s silver eyes, another breathless cackle dancing off rosy lips. The muggle-born wanted to pull her close, keep her safe and warm. “You talked to my Andy, didn’t you? You _tried_ to understand the situation...” Bellatrix’s creepy smile faltered for a second, but returned in full force the following one. “ _Tried_ to understand why anyone would say such awful things about me...”

  
“Yes.”

  
The pure-blood laughed boisterously, placing a hand on her chest. Right above her heart. “I’m touched,” she snarled, slim fingers clasping the bloodstained shirt hard. The tip of her walnut wand now rested against Hermione’s sternum. “But do keep your nose out of my business, professor, and see yourself out.”

  
“I’m afraid not.”

  
“You—” another cackle, another step forward. “What?”  
  
  
Hermione analysed Bellatrix’s for a moment, committing every detail to memory. The small scars and moles, the strong jaw, the quivering lips, the pronounced cheekbones, the devastated and hopeless eyes. With utmost carefulness, she pushed the walnut wand down and pulled Bellatrix, who smelled like blood, mud and sweat, into a hug.

  
“What—” Bellatrix gasped as she tensed up in Hermione’s arms. “Let me go, let me go, let me go!” she screamed frantically, squirming and trying to break free for a solid minute.   
  
  
“I’m not going to hurt you, I promise. Just... don’t push me away, please...” Hermione said softly, her voice slightly muffled by the unruly mane of black curls. “I told you; I care about whatever happens to you, Bellatrix, and I’m very worried about you. Let me help you, please...” 

  
After a few seconds, Bellatrix finally gave up and leaned forward into Hermione’s warm embrace. “What are you— what are you doing? Why are you doing this?”

  
Hermione chewed on her lower lip, saddened by the confusion palpable in Bellatrix’s hoarse voice.  
  
  
 _Because I care about you,_ she thought calmly as she rubbed soothing circles on the Slytherin’s back. _And because I— because I like you..._

  
The revelation made her smile.

_  
I like Bellatrix Black..._

  
“Why are you doing this?” Bellatrix repeated quietly, shivering from head to toe. An incredulous giggle danced off her lips, promptly followed by a sob. “Why... don’t you run away from me? I don’t understand— why aren’t you— I pulled my wand at you. I could have hurt you. I don’t understand... I— why don’t you— hate me?”

  
“Listen to me... it’s alright,” Hermione whispered after exhaling softly through her nose, her voice cracking painfully. “Did you want to hurt me, Bellatrix? When you pulled your wand at me... did you wish to hurt me?”

  
“I—” another disbelieving chuckle echoed throughout the Chamber of Secrets, weak and broken. The Slytherin witch did a full-body shudder and clung closer to Hermione. “Of course not...”

  
“Then that settles it,” said Hermione, eyes fluttering closed. “Everything’s going to be fine, I promise...”

  
The muggle-born focused on Bellatrix’s erratic breathing against her neck, her soft whimpers and the way her scrawny body trembled viciously in Hermione’s arms. A choked gasp echoed through the Chamber of Secrets, quickly followed by a quiet sniffle.

  
“It’s not bad to cry, you know? In fact, I think it makes a person stronger.”

  
Then, a heartrending sob erupted from Bellatrix’s chapped lips. Soon enough, cold tears landed on Hermione’s warm neck.

  
“Just like that...” Hermione whispered, smiling into Bellatrix’s mane of black curls. “Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere. You don’t have to go through this alone.” 

_  
I like Bellatrix Black…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I only have one thing left to say...
> 
> Fucking finally.


	19. XIX: Hidden in plain sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More wand liberties because I like me some lore!
> 
> Cygnus’ wand: made of Blackthorn wood (Blackthorn, which is a very unusual wand wood, has the reputation, in my view well-merited, of being best suited to a warrior. This does not necessarily mean that its owner practises the Dark Arts [although it is undeniable that those who do so will enjoy the blackthorn wand’s prodigious power]; one finds blackthorn wands among the Aurors as well as among the denizens of Azkaban. It is a curious feature of the blackthorn bush, which sports wicked thorns, that it produces its sweetest berries after the hardest frosts, and the wands made from this wood appear to need to pass through danger or hardship with their owners to become truly bonded. Given this condition, the blackthorn wand will become as loyal and faithful a servant as one could wish.), has a dragon heartstring core, unyielding, 12¾” long.
> 
> Madam Poppy’s wand: made of Elm wood (Elm wands prefer owners with presence, magical dexterity and a certain native dignity. Of all wand woods, elm, in Ollivander's experience, produces the fewest accidents, the least foolish errors, and the most elegant charms and spells; these are sophisticated wands, capable of highly advanced magic in the right hands), has a unicorn tail hair as the core, 12” long, pliable.

“Professor Granger, what would happen if someone broke a water goblet?” 

  
Hermione turned around, shocked. “You—”

  
“Would a _Reparo_ bring it back together?” Narcissa continued, stroking her transfigured chalice carefully. As though she wasn’t asking a highly disturbing question. Just like her oldest sister. “What would happen to the transmuted animal?”

  
A tired chuckle resounded through the empty classroom —class 99 in the South Tower— together with a very familiar clickety-clack.  
  
  
Both witches turned around, surprised.

  
“What in the actual fuck, Cissy?” Bellatrix laughed, venturing further into the small classroom. “First of all, the chalices cannot be broken. After transmuting an animal into a water goblet, they acquire an exceptional degree of resistance. Second, what are you still doing here? I just saw a horde of second-years rushing down the tower like there’s no tomorrow. Don’t you have Potions or something?”

  
The muggle-born smiled, reversing a badly done _Vera Verto_ with a nonverbal _Reparifarge._ Soon enough, the chalice became a squeaky mouse again.  
  
  
“Yes, but I stayed behind to ask my question. Andy wouldn’t answer me,” Narcissa said, a small smile tugging at her pursed lips. “What are _you_ doing here, Bella? I thought you had Quidditch practise this afternoon.”

  
Bellatrix shrugged. “Didn’t I tell you? Professor Granger gave me weekly detention,” she said nonchalantly, leaving her satchel on a desk without much care. “Our cousin Rosier will handle Quidditch practice for me today, no biggie.”

  
Narcissa’s eyes narrowed. “Detention?” 

  
“Look at me,” said Bellatrix calmly, “and see for yourself.”

  
The sisters locked eyes.

  
The blonde raised her eyebrows, tilting her chin up slowly. “That’s awfully nice of her,” she hummed thoughtfully after some seconds. “I’m happy for you, Bella.” 

  
“Whatever,” replied Bellatrix with a half-smile. “Run along, daffodil.”

  
“Don’t call me that!” Narcissa shrieked, blushing a lovely shade of red. Even the tips of her pale ears were flushed.   
  
  
And much to Hermione’s surprise, most of Narcissa’s platinum blonde hair turned pitch black out of nowhere. “That’s— she’s a Metamorhpmagus?” Hermione whispered in awe, looking back and forth between the two sisters.

  
“Hah, nice try,” said Bellatrix with a broad smirk. “But you’re still my little daffodil.”  
  
  
With an indignant huff, Narcissa gathered her things and stormed out of the classroom graciously, her hair turning platinum blonde once more. In the meantime, Bellatrix removed her work robes and sat down on a desk with a chuckle. She kept staring at the door for a while, fondness evident in her usually cunning eyes.

  
Hermione blinked, surprised. “Did she just—?” she questioned, waving vaguely at the door. “Is your sister a Metamorphmagus? Why didn’t I know?”

  
“Not just her,” hummed Bellatrix, tilting her head to the side. “We keep it a secret; only a few people know. Ah, but do rest assured, I was actually using the _Crinus Muto_ spell that day in class. No need to deduct those twenty points from Slytherin.” 

  
“What about Andromeda and Sirius?” Hermione asked, stepping closer to the younger witch.  
  
  
While their encounter at the Chamber of Secrets had been three days ago, things had changed significantly between them. There was now a profound level of understanding, an invisible force pushing them closer and closer. Both of them had, unfortunately, gotten a taste of the other’s darkness and instability, the demons that haunted their minds late at night. None of them dared judge.

  
“Nah, not Siri,” replied Bellatrix. “The gift comes from my mother’s side of the family; the Rosiers—” she paused and chuckled tiredly. “And before you ask: no, Felix isn’t a Metamorphmagus. Looks like the ability’s got a tendency towards women in the Rosier line.”   
  
  
“Fascinating,” whispered Hermione, looking at Bellatrix with wide eyes. A frown creased her features. “Is that how you’re hiding your scars?”

  
With a knowing smirk, Bellatrix caressed her pale neck twice. “Not really. I’m using a Glamour Charm for that. I only use my Metamorphmagus abilities when I feel like changing my appearance for no reason.”

  
“Why hide them?”  
  
  
Having committed every detail of Bellatrix’s face to memory back in the Chamber of Secrets, Hermione remembered her scars vividly. 

  
Most of them were small and round. From pimples, most likely. Those were scattered across her temples and cheeks, nigh-on invisible to the naked eye unless you were standing face to face with Bellatrix. A few others were far more noticeable: there was a long yet thin scar on her left cheek, right temple and neck, definitely from Vincent Vane’s unfortunate _Sectumsempra_ ; and a crooked scar on the bridge of her nose. That one had intrigued Hermione to no end... as had the mysterious blotch on Bellatrix’s shirt that day.

  
“They’re my scars,” said Bellatrix. “I can do whatever I want with them, no?”

  
Hermione shrugged. “Yes, I just... I just wanted to know, sorry.”

  
“You apologise too much,” mumbled Bellatrix, locking eyes with her. “Have I told you that?”

  
“Perhaps,” replied Hermione with a slight blush. “Anyway, I... how are you feeling? You didn’t look well in class.”

  
Bellatrix hummed, cracking her fingers distractedly. “Exhausted,” she said. “Those episodes are very draining. But I’m doing fine, I think.”

  
“What happened?” Hermione asked softly, testing the waters. “Why did you have that— er... episode?” 

  
As expected, Bellatrix shrugged and refrained from giving an actual explanation. “Stress,” she laughed. “That’s usually what triggers my nervous breakdowns. That and insomnia.”

  
“You—” a pause, a frown. “You know what a nervous breakdown is?”

  
The younger witch huffed. “Of course! I’m not an uncultured swine,” she pouted. “The Ravenclaw students have a Knockturn Alley here, you see. Especially the muggle-born ones. Every couple of weeks, they bring books of all sorts: medicine, physics, chemistry, history, biology, psychology, mathematics... you know, the useful stuff we don’t learn at Hogwarts,” she said with a smirk. “Muggles make interesting points on occasion.”  
  


Hermione smiled softly.

  
“Why are you looking at me like that?” Bellatrix asked, running her fingers down her sweater-clad forearm. 

  
“I...” Hermione laughed nervously. “I don’t know... hearing you say _muggle-born_ and _Muggles_ is very nice. Last time I heard you say something of the like—”

  
Bellatrix nodded her understanding. “Not my finest moment, I’ll admit.” Her distracted scratches grew erratic and nervous by the minute, her sleeves rolled up a bit. “I grew out of that over the years... McGonagall and Siri were... quite helpful. Unlearning things isn’t easy, especially when—”

  
“What’s that?” Hermione interjected quietly, pointing at Bellatrix’s left forearm. Her constant scratching had revealed a green —Slytherin green, obviously— cloth beneath her jumper’s and shirt’s sleeves, which covered her arm all the way to the wrist.  
  
  
“Ah,” she said with a deadpan expression, pulling the sleeves down again hastily. “Well... that’s an additional sleeve. As you can see, I scratch my forearm when I’m nervous or distracted. The sleeve is charmed so that I don’t hurt myself. Used to happen quite a lot back in the day,” she finished lamely. 

  
Golden eyes narrowed in suspicion.  
  
  
“Well, I’m sure Madam Pomfrey or Neville could help you with that.” A sudden thought crossed her mind. She tilted her head, curious. “Wait a moment... can’t Madam Pomfrey help you with... your episodes?”  
  
  
“Morgana’s tits, I would pester them every two days,” Bellatrix laughed, though it sounded rather forced. “And... well, technically she can. She tried to help me at first, but I stopped heeding her assistance over time.”

  
Hermione gasped, alarmed. “Why?”

  
“Well... Madam Pomfrey used to give me a Calming Draught,” said Bellatrix with a grimace. “I hate those. They make my brain go fuzzy and I cannot think properly.” She shuddered, scratching her forearm again. “Slughorn and Madam Pomfrey made the potion extra strong for me; powerful enough to knock an adult Hippogriff flat in a solid minute. I would wake up feeling like utter shit—” a grimace, a shrug. “And the symptoms would always remain. In the end, we decided that I’d deal with them on my own.”

  
“But that’s horrible,” said Hermione sadly, feeling like a hypocrite. “Nobody should go through those things alone.”

  
“You saw me that afternoon,” whispered Bellatrix. “I pulled my wand at _you_. I cannot distinguish between friend and foe when I’m having an episode. I almost harmed Andy once...” Her voice grew strained and pained. “That’s why I go to the Chamber of Secrets. It’s safe, nobody else knows how to open it.”

  
“Why not the Room of Requirement?”

  
Bellatrix raised an eyebrow. “The Room of Requirement is on the seventh floor. Myrtle’s Bathroom is on the second floor. My Common Room is located in the dungeons. You do the math.”

  
Hermione nodded, feeling a bit stupid.

  
“There’s something bothering you,” said Bellatrix calmly. “Has been bothering you for days, actually. What is it?”

  
“Why—” a heavy sigh, a shake of the head. “Why do they say those awful things about you? What’s up with the famous _Boggart incident_ everyone keeps talking about?”

  
“Ah...” Bellatrix hummed, pinching her sweater-clad forearm. She looked away, eyeing the Transfiguration diagram with newfound interest. “You’ve already met my father.”

**_  
“You are lying, filthy Mudblood,” Cygnus sneered, his voice growing deeper and deeper. “And I know it! You have been inside my vault at Gringotts! Tell the truth, tell the truth!”_ **

**_  
“LIES! Crucio — Crucio — CRUCIO!”_ **

**_  
“ENOUGH!” Cygnus roared, piercing her left forearm with the silver dagger. “I have had ENOUGH of your pitiful lies, you filthy Mudblood!” He said darkly, carving a perfect arch near the other gashes._ **

  
With surprising gentleness, Bellatrix clasped her trembling hands, still looking away. There was a faint blush on her cheeks. “As I was saying... you’ve already met my father. My mother isn’t any better, to be honest. French pure-bloods are fucking nasty, I’ll tell you that. Don’t get me wrong, the English are bigoted bastards through and through, but the French ones?” A sneer creased her pale features, her voice growing venomous bit by bit. “Loathe those bloody prats... stay slim, stay pretty, stay clean, stay pure, don’t cuss, don’t talk back... what a bunch of bollocks. In any case— none of them are particularly known for their kindness and thoughtfulness.” 

  
“And that’s why—” her voice died off, pitiful and small.

  
“Yep,” said Bellatrix nonchalantly. “I don’t really care anymore, to be honest.”

  
Hermione raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. 

  
“For the most part,” drawled Bellatrix through gritted teeth, her features hardening perceptibly. “Say, what did you do with my father’s wand?”

  
The sudden change of topic startled Hermione for a moment.

  
“I—” she grabbed her wand, twirling gently between her fingers. “Ollivander made a replica of mine shortly after the Battle of Hogwarts. Still vine and dragon heartstring, but a bit longer than the original and a tad less flexible... I used his wand as kindling during winter break in 1998,” she admitted quietly. 

  
A throaty chuckle danced off Bella’s rosy lips. “What a grand finale.”

  
“It didn’t obey me that much,” continued Hermione with a slight blush. “And I didn’t want anything to do with his wand. I could feel the dark magic emanating from it... and knowing the things it’d done... Harry and I wanted to destroy it with the Sword of Gryffindor as soon as we got our hands on it.”

  
Bellatrix nodded solemnly. “Great choice,” she praised. “Impersonating my father must have been awful.”

  
Hermione groaned. “Worst hour of my entire life,” she complained. “Well... not even an hour. We passed through a security waterfall, known as the Thief’s Downfall, which removed our disguises. I was both frightened and elated with the sudden outcome.”

  
“That’s when they changed sides,” said Bellatrix softly. “My parents, I mean. As you may already know, the Dark Lord committed mass murder on the same day as the break-in. They witnessed the slaughter together with Abraxas Malfoy. They just changed sides to save face,” she said, laughing bitterly at the end. “Whatever little face they had left, that is.”

  
“Did you ever see Him?” Hermione asked quietly all of a sudden, placing her free hand atop Bellatrix’s with great gentleness. “Did you ever meet Voldemort?”  
  
  
“Yeah... I—” she frowned, looking conflicted. “Once or twice, maybe? I’m not entirely sure anymore. I tried to forget about those few meetings for years; they’re nothing but a blur now.” 

  
“Understandable.”

  
Bellatrix hummed, swaying her legs back and forth slowly, and twirled her thumb ring left and right. “How did _you_ open the Chamber of Secrets?”

  
“Harry was a Parselmouth, he could speak the language because of the fragment of You-Know-Who’s soul that resided in him,” said Hermione. “He also sleep-talked frequently, so Ron learned a bit— enough to open the Chamber of Secrets during the Battle of Hogwarts in front of me.” A grimace stretched her dry lips, memories of their passionate kiss rushing back to her mind. “What about you?”

  
“I learned Parseltongue on my own,” answered Bellatrix with a proud smirk. “There are some books about Parseltongue in the Restricted Section and Black Manor’s grand library.”

  
Golden eyes widened in surprise and fascination. “That’s impressive, Bellatrix.”

  
Pale cheeks turned pink again.

  
“It’s definitely proven useful,” murmured the Slytherin, looking away from Hermione. “Not many people know that I can speak Parseltongue— just my sisters, Siri and McGonagall... and you...” She muttered the last words softly, almost hesitantly. 

  
Hermione smiled. “Your secret is safe with me, don’t worry.”

  
“I—” she chewed on her bottom lip thoughtfully. “Thank you.”

  
“No need to—”

  
Bellatrix squeezed her hand. “No, you don’t understand,” she said softly. “You... you don’t judge me. Sure, you behaved like a complete asshole at first, but you _apologised_ to me. Almost nobody does that...”

_  
That’s why you seemed so surprised and intrigued when I looked for you that day, isn’t it?_

  
“I was convinced that you were afraid of me,” continued Bellatrix in a small voice. “But you sought me out and proved me otherwise... you actually listen to whatever I have to say—” silver eyes, impossibly sincere and exhausted, found golden ones. “You opened the Chamber of Secrets and looked for me. Even when I pulled my wand at you, you stayed and tried to comfort me. You’ve asked me to meet you weekly because you want to make sure that I’m okay... that’s— not even McGonagall’s done so much for me. And I’m confused.”

  
Slowly, Hermione interlaced their fingers.

  
“Nobody’s ever done that before,” muttered Bellatrix. “And I don’t understand... I don’t understand why you bother so much, but I’m thankful.”

  
“Because I care about you,” said Hermione gently, cheeks growing hot. The epiphany hit her again. _There’s no way I’m telling her that._

  
Bellatrix jumped off the table and paced around the narrow corridor. Up and down, up and down. Her movements were slow and twitchy.

  
“I don’t—” she exhaled shakily and placed her right hand atop her heart. “I don’t understand why.”

_  
I saw a glimpse of you. The brilliant witch who loves Quidditch and reading. The brilliant witch who is shockingly good at Defense Against the Dark Arts. The brilliant witch who is trying to find a cure for the Longbottoms’ mindless insanity. The brilliant witch who has to deal with her parents’ wrongdoings day after day. The brilliant witch who has a dry humour and dazzling smirks._

  
“I-It simply happened,” said Hermione lamely. 

  
Her pacing stopped.

  
“Well... I’m glad it happened.”   
  
  
Hermione looked up, pleasantly surprised and giddy with excitement, and gasped when she saw Bellatrix’s body falling forward. With astonishing speed, she caught Bellatrix’s wrist and helped her up.

  
“Hey!” she screamed, alarmed. “W-What’s wrong?”

  
Bellatrix didn’t respond. Her silver eyes were closed, her features impossibly soft.

_  
Did Bellatrix just—?_

  
With utmost care, Hermione tried to take her to the infirmary as quickly as possible. Make no mistake, Bellatrix was surprisingly light, but the distance between the South Tower and the Hospital Wing was... noteworthy, for the lack of a better word. Fortunately for her, there were no students around. They were either in class, in the library, in their respective Common Rooms or elsewhere.

  
Unluckily, the Hospital Wing wasn’t empty.  
  
  
William Greengrass and Gregory Cresswell lay awkwardly on two juxtaposed beds, moaning in their sleep.

  
“Quidditch practise,” informed Madam Pomfrey from afar. “These Slytherins cannot train like normal people. No! They have to use rogue Bludg—” a sharp gasp echoed through the infirmary. “Miss Black?”

  
“I— er... Miss Black was serving detention with me,” said Hermione nervously. “She fainted all of a sudden.”

  
Madam Pomfrey nodded and placed Bellatrix on a bed without much effort. “ _Diagnostico!_ ” she said, her elm wand hovering over the unconscious witch. A sea of blue lights emanated from her body, almost obscuring two dark red sparkles and a yellow one. “I see... malnutrition, stress, magical exhaustion... must have had one of her episodes recently, but that doesn’t explain the advanced malnutrition...”

  
“The episode was three days ago,” whispered Hermione, looking at Bellatrix worriedly. “Is she going to be alright, Madam Pomfrey?”

  
“Certainly,” replied the nurse, rushing towards a cabinet. “She simply needs a lot of rest and some food—” she walked back with two potions in hand, a Draught of Peace and a Healing Potion. “Be a dear and help me administer these potions.”

  
“I— sorry?”

  
Madam Pomfrey huffed, carefully pulling Bellatrix’s mouth open. “Massage her throat while I administer the potions, that way she won’t choke on them.”

  
Blushing profusely, Hermione followed Madam Pomfrey’s instructions. Her fingers soon found the telltale sign of a Glamour Charm, the magic mingling with her own for a second. Hermione blinked a couple of times, trying not to focus on the pleasant tingle in her fingertips.

  
“That should be enough,” said Madam Pomfrey after a minute. “I’ll take care of her from here on out. The three of them—” she gestured vaguely at the sleeping boys, who kept on sobbing in their sleep. “Should be alright in a few days. Two or three, give or take.”

  
Hermione nodded. “Thank you, Madam Pomfrey.”

  
With a warm smile, Hermione exited the Infirmary Wing and headed to the Great Hall. Her heart was thundering at speeds unknown, her thoughts running a mile per second.

  
The pleasant tingle in her fingertips hadn’t faded in the slightest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen, I refuse to believe that Nymphadora was a Metamorphmagus just because. I like to think that it's like being a Parselmouth: an extremely rare hereditary trait. Ted Tonks is a muggle-born, so there's no way he could have passed that trait to Nymphadora. That leaves us with Andromeda− and I can totally see her and the other two Black sisters being Metamorphmagi. 
> 
> I also wanted an excuse to give Narcissa her film hair for a bit, sue me. She probably changes her hair in private to look like her older sisters a bit more.
> 
> The Ravenclaw students have a pseudo black market of muggle books, hands down. Especially the muggle-born ones. I refuse to believe they don't!


	20. XX: Dreams and packages.

“How did you get inside my vault?”

  
Hermione sobbed, unable to shake her head due to Cygnus’ iron grip on her hair. “We didn’t, I promise— we have never been inside your vault!”

  
The wizard’s nostrils flared dangerously. “You are lying, filthy Mudblood,” he sneered, his voice growing deeper and deeper. “And I know it! You have been inside my vault at Gringotts! Tell the truth, _tell the truth!”_

  
“We haven’t,” cried Hermione, to which Cygnus simply roared, “LIES! _Crucio— Crucio— CRUCIO!”_

  
A high-pitched scream erupted from her dry lips, tearing her throat to pathetic shreds. Her entire body convulsed, scorching pain coursing through her veins at speeds unknown. The sensation was absolutely maddening— a myriad of white-hot knives plunged into her tortured body, ruthlessly slashing her skin apart. Her heartbeat thundered between her ringing ears, muffling her desperate cries and his enraged screams. 

  
“I’m going to ask you one more time...” Cygnus murmured, watching her writhe in pain with a delighted gleam in his dark eyes. “Where did you get this sword? _WHERE?”_

  
“We found it...” Her voice was pitiful and broken, nigh-on inaudible. “We found it— PLEASE!” Hermione begged, screaming at the top of her lungs when the infuriated man cursed her again and again. 

  
“YOU WERE IN MY VAULT!” Cygnus roared, pressing his blackthorn wand against her larynx. Gurgling, Hermione looked around the room, desperately searching for a way out— her eyes soon landed on a blurry figure. Bellatrix, if memory served her right. Hermione couldn’t see her face.

_  
Help me… Bellatrix, please help me…_

  
“WHAT ELSE DID YOU TAKE? WHAT ELSE HAVE YOU GOT?” Cygnus growled, pressing the wand harder against her larynx. He also tightened his hold on the silver dagger. “Tell me the truth or, I swear, I shall run you with this knife!”

  
Keeping his wand dangerously close to her aching skin at all times, Cygnus pulled away just a tad. Hermione gasped for air almost greedily. “N-Nothing, I promise! We haven’t been inside your vault− we haven’t taken anything from you!”  
  


Cygnus growled, obviously displeased with the answer, and cursed her again and again. “HOW DID YOU GET IN MY VAULT?” He demanded, sounding _just_ like a broken record. His dark eyes were blown and manic. Bloodshot, frightening, absolutely deranged. The eyes of a bloodthirsty murderer. The eyes of a _Death Eater._ “Did that dirty little goblin in the cellar help you, hm?”

  
“We only met him tonight!” Hermione replied, shaking her head frantically. Everything hurt. “We’ve ne-never been inside your vault... it isn’t the real sword! It’s just a copy, just a co—”

  
“ENOUGH!” Cygnus screamed, piercing her left forearm with the silver dagger. While extremely painful, the sensation paled in comparison with the _Cruciatus Curse._ Still, Hermione screamed her lungs out.

  
Desperate, the muggle-born glanced at Bellatrix one more time. _Please, save me... please, please, please..._ The eerie shadows moved a tad, but the young Slytherin remained hidden from sight. 

  
Cold tears rushed down her cheeks.

  
The wizard pushed the blade forward, engraving a straight line into her aching skin— the weapon’s dark magic made Hermione’s flesh tingle unpleasantly. _Please, please, please..._ Cackling madly, the man created two more gashes, this time carved in a down-and-up motion. Then, he moved the blade back down painfully slow, creating a line that mirrored the very first one through and through.

  
“I have had ENOUGH of your pitiful lies, you filthy Mudblood!” Cygnus said darkly, carving a perfect arch beside the other gashes.

_  
Help me, help me, help me, help me…_

  
Soon enough, darkness claimed her.

  
Golden eyes flew wide open, panicked and bloodshot. Everything hurt greatly, from her fingertips to her very soul. The tortured witch swallowed hard, the action painful beyond reason, and eyed her surroundings warily. 

  
A crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling. There were dozens of ancient portraits against the dark purple walls. Two leather armchairs stood menacingly in front of the fireplace— something moved beside it, the shadows swaying back and forth momentarily. Steady, subdued breathing resonated through the drawing-room together with Hermione’s erratic one.

  
“W-Who…” 

  
Her hoarse voice withered away, dying at the back of her wrecked throat.

  
Eventually, someone stepped out of the shadows— a familiar clickety-clack thundered across the place. After a few seconds, a thirteen-year-old witch came into view.

  
“B-Bella…”

  
With each and every step forward, the younger girl changed a tad: her black curls grew longer, her silver eyes turned wise and cunning, her cheekbones became pronounced and sharp, various scars appeared across her pale face and neck, her rosy lips grew a bit fuller, her nondescript black clothes morphed into the Slytherin uniform. 

  
“Bella…”

  
The now seventeen-year-old Slytherin hummed softly, kneeling before Hermione without uttering a single word. Her slim fingers caressed Hermione’s marred forearm carefully, the touch slow and feather-light at all times. Dark, dark blood seeped through the cursed gashes and tinged Bellatrix’s pale fingertips, the gore cold against her warm digits.  
  
  
“W-What...”

  
“I should’ve done something to prevent this,” murmured Bellatrix, bringing the bleeding forearm to her rosy lips. Her breath was hot against the open wounds. “I’m sorry…”

  
Hermione shuddered, looking at Bellatrix bloodstained lips shamelessly— however, her eyelids soon became impossibly heavy once again. 

  
Slender fingers stroked her cheek, the abused skin tingling pleasantly beneath those pale fingertips.

  
“Look at you. You cannot keep your eyes open,” whispered Bellatrix softly, her mouth curving into a bloody half-smile. “Nobody can hurt you now, go back to sleep…”

  
An incessant tapping roused her.

  
“Wha…” 

  
In her confusion, Hermione spotted something outside her window— a great horned owl as black as darkness itself. A medium-sized package lay beneath its claws, a small note tied neatly around its right leg. Then, the owl spread its wings and pecked the pane again.

  
“Just a second,” Hermione mumbled through gritted teeth, burying her face deep into her carmine pillow for a few seconds. 

  
More tapping.

  
After some trial and error, she managed to get out of bed. Her entire body ached, craving the mattress’ softness and warmth right away. “So much for my free day...”

  
Interestingly enough, four things happened in quick succession after Hermione finally opened her window: the black owl hooted happily, flew straight into her room, dropped the package onto her bed and landed next to Crookshanks Junior.

  
Then, the part-Kneazle regarded the owl and purred his approval almost instantly.

  
Hermione took a deep breath, basked in the warm — _what a gross overstatement_ — February morning sunlight for a few seconds, grabbed the small note tied around the owl’s leg and walked back to her bed.

  
Her heart fluttered upon recognising the elegant scrawl. 

_Good morning,_

_Hopefully, Meissa hasn’t given you a hard time— she’s young and very curious._

_Please, don’t scream at her. I don’t want or need another familiar flying to Alaska._

_There’s another note inside the package._

_B.B_

Hermione laughed warmly, remembering Bellatrix’s little anecdote.

**  
_Their weekly meetings had become routine, so to speak._ **

**  
_Depending on their mood; they would either talk for hours on end, share stories here and there, do some research together or work on their own. All in all, those_ ** **_‘detentions’ were certainly proving useful as Hermione got to know more and more of Bellatrix, who still refused to open up about many, many things._ **

**  
_Hermione remained hopeful, regardless._  
  
 _  
Somehow, their dynamic had slowly changed over the weeks._ **

**_  
Oftentimes, Hermione caught Bellatrix staring at her with a thoughtful expression and her mouth curved into the smallest of smiles. Upon noticing sh_** ** _e_ _’d been caught, Bellatrix always looked away in record time, a faint blush taking over her pale features. She also spoke more freely, unafraid of saying what was going on in her mind, and laughed more often._ ** ****

**  
_Deep down, the sight made Hermione smile.  
  
  
“I used to have a crow once,” said Bellatrix one day out of nowhere, offering Crookshanks Jr. a large biscuit with feigned disinterest. She loved the cat, Hermione could tell that much. “His name was Corvus. Like the constellation. Cissy found him when she was six. She named him. She loved him dearly.” _ _  
_**

**_  
“What happened to him?”_ **

**_  
Bellatrix shrugged and returned to her Potions’ essay. “Augustus Rookwood killed him when I was eleven, I think,” she replied calmly. “He believed Corvus was an Animagus eavesdropping on them.”_ **

**_  
“That’s totally barbaric!” Hermione gasped, dropping her fountain pen with a soft ‘clang’._ **

**_  
The Slytherin sighed. “That’s what usually happens when a bunch of deranged, paranoiac murderers hold the fancy parties in your house.” She scratched her left forearm, skimming the Essence of Insanity ingredients with narrowed eyes. “Imagine our shock when little Cissy came asking for Corvus.”_ **

**_  
“What did you do?”  
  
  
_ ** **_“There’s only so much you can tell a seven-year-old girl whose familiar’s been killed by a runaway murderer, honestly. So I did the only thing I could think of at that very moment,” said Bellatrix with a broad smile. “I told her Corvus flew to Alaska because Andy had screamed at him that morning. Something about him trying to make a nest on her hair.”_ **

**_  
Inevitably, Hermione laughed. “Why Alaska?”_ **

**_  
“Why not?”_ **

  
Hermione set the note aside and grabbed the light package. 

  
With shaky fingers, she ripped the brown giftwrap and opened the medium-sized black box. Her eyes widened upon spotting a tray of chocolate inside, a small note glued to the lid.

_I know that you believe_

_Valentine’s day is a capitalist fraud  
created to take advantage of_

_those who are in desperate need  
of love and whatever... _

_but I wanted to give you something nice  
for once. _

_As a thank you for everything you’ve done for me and  
my little sisters_

_(thank you for defending Andy the other day,  
I really appreciate that).  
  
P.S: I know dark chocolate’s not your cup of tea,_

_but it’s clearly the superior type. Maybe this will finally convince you of that.  
Enjoy.  
B.B_

Her cheeks grew warm as a soft chuckle danced off her lips.   
  
  
_Goddammit, Bella._  
  
  
After much deliberation, she picked one and took a tentative bite. The bitterness of the dark chocolate blended effortlessly with the acidity of its orange filling, leaving a shockingly pleasant aftertaste in Hermione’s mouth. Not that she’d ever tell Bellatrix that.  
  
  
Smiling to herself, she walked back to the window and looked at the Quidditch pitch, where a team was already practising.

  
_**“So... any plans for Valentine’s?” Hermione asked as she turned the fifth-years’ love notes back into lovebirds, desperately trying to mask her own nervousness.** _   
  


_**“Why d’you ask? I thought you didn’t care about the festivity,” said Bellatrix, shooting harmless sparks at the ceiling. “Something about it being a— how was that?** _ **A concept created by greedy capitalists to take advantage of those who a** **re lonely or unsure of how to confess to their crushes.** _**”** _

_**  
Hermione shrugged.** **_“_ Just curious, is all. Ariana Riggs seems to have a thing for you.”  
  
  
“Hah, not just her,” chuckled Bellatrix. “Some cannot decide whether I’m bonkers or hot. Some even seem to like that.”  
  
  
And very deep down, Hermione couldn’t help but feel downright jealous. Bellatrix having suitors was anything but surprising, really; she was absolutely brilliant and an amazing Quidditch player. Anyone could easily see that.**_ **  
  
  
****_“‘s not like I’m interested in any of them,” said Bellatrix, smiling devilishly. “The only plan I have is Quidditch practise early in the morning. Gotta keep the team sharp and in tip-top shape, you know?” she laughed whilst looking at the sparks. “And burn whatever chocolate I get with my sisters, I suppose.”_ ** **  
**

**_  
Hermione raised an eyebrow, curious._**

  
**_“It’s a tradition of sorts,” Bellatrix explained, “we always burn chocolate in the Common Room on Valentine’s Day. Not quite sure where that came from, honestly...”_ ** **  
_  
_**

  
With a happy sigh, Hermione leaned against the windowsill and watched the small figures fly around the pitch. One soared into the air all of a sudden, ascending more and more— then pulling into an abrupt dive. Hermione could perfectly imagine who _that_ was.

  
A sudden thought crossed her mind.

 _  
I shouldn’t..._ Another glance to the Honeydukes’ box made her resolve crumble. _Ah, screw it. I could get her something in return, as long as nobody else finds out... besides, it’s going to be platonic. From one friend to another! There’s nothing wrong with that, right?_

  
Giddy with excitement, Hermione entered the little bathroom adjacent to the office-room and took a warm shower. After half an hour, she felt refreshed and renewed. With a tiny flick of her wand, she dried her hair and summoned clean clothes. 

  
“ _Colovaria!_ ” Hermione exclaimed, aiming at her old Gryffindor scarf. The red stripes became blue, the golden ones turned bronze in colour. She smiled contentedly and wrapped the now Ravenclaw scarf around her neck. Then, she pointed her wand at herself. _“Colovaria! Crinus Muto!”  
  
_

Her golden eyes turned chocolate brown, her hair straightened and became thinner. Long gone were her beloved chestnut curls, now replaced by a dirty blonde mane. With a self-satisfied smile, she transfigured her most prominent features. 

  
Satisfied with her spellwork, Hermione pulled the scarf up and stormed out of her office. Evading dozens of students, kissing couples — _dear God, some of them are even worse than Lavender and Ronald!_ — and wandering ghosts, Hermione reached the hidden passage that connected Honeydukes with Hogwarts. After a long while, Hermione found herself in the sweet shop’s cellar, heart beating wild and unrestrained.

  
Acting as nonchalantly as possible, she went downstairs and eyed the chocolate section critically. 

  
“Good morning,” said Ambrosius Flume, the owner of Honeydukes, with a warm smile. “Can I help you, missy?”

_  
I shouldn’t be doing this... this is morally wrong and—_

  
Hermione cleared her throat, thinking of a way to change her voice. “Umm... yes, please,” she rasped softly. “I— er… you see, the person I like adores dark chocolate. She believes it’s the superior type, actually. I was hoping I could prove her wrong.”

  
Mr. Flume laughed. “Ah, young love…” He sighed wistfully, dancing around Honeydukes like a man on a mission. “I remember those days. The indecision, the subtle flirting, the shared looks during class—” unbeknownst to him, Hermione blushed a vibrant shade of red beneath her transfigured Ravenclaw scarf. “I have the perfect box for you! It has a variety of chocolates— mostly white and milk, but it has a few dark ones in case your little doveling doesn’t like the others.”

  
“T-Thank you, sir,” Hermione mumbled, handing him five galleons nervously. After accepting the box, she left Honeydukes and rushed to the Shrieking Shack, avoiding wandering couples once more. 

  
Once inside, she followed the tunnel back to the Whomping Willow. Using an _Expulso_ against the small knot near its base, Hermione emerged from the secret passage and walked towards the West Tower with decisiveness.

  
“Filch doesn’t check the packages and letters anymore,” she muttered to herself, undoing the Transfiguration spells with a flick of her wand. “Therefore, I can _technically_ use a school owl to send this box… I should probably write a letter and use a Concealing Charm on it…”

  
Upon arriving at the cold Owlery, Hermione conjured some gift paper and wrapped the box magically. Then, she produced a sheet of paper and a fountain pen from her beaded handbag. After much pondering, she wrote a brief note and charmed it. Sticking and Concealing Charm, two in one.

  
“Give this to Bellatrix Black during lunchtime,” she said to a snowy owl, handing it the package and some treats. “Thank you so much.”

  
And with that being said, Hermione returned to Hogwarts with butterflies in her stomach.

  
Hundreds of students filled the corridors, chatting and giggling amongst themselves. Many blushed whilst they held their partner’s hand, goofy smiles decorating their lovestruck faces. They shared boxes of chocolate, love notes, bouquets of roses —Hermione felt a pang of pride upon seeing those, for _she_ had taught these teenagers how to conjure them about a week ago— and wrapped gifts.

  
Much to Hermione’s surprise, a few students approached her in the Great Hall later that day. A representative of each House, she realised somewhat distractedly.

  
“Looks like you have a fan club,” joked Sirius beside her.

  
Henry Flint, the Slytherin Head Boy, nodded at them politely. “Professor Granger, could we have a word with you?”

  
Hermione raised an eyebrow, confused. “What’s wrong?”

  
Amelia Dedalus, the Gryffindor Head Girl, shook her head. “Nothing’s wrong, don’t worry.” She locked hands with Evelyn Affton, the Ravenclaw Head Girl, and smiled brightly. “We just wanted to give you something.”

  
“In the name of Hogwarts’ student body,” said James Murray, the Hufflepuff Head Boy, whilst pulling a big package from his robes. _Seriously, does everyone have expanded pockets now?_ “We want to thank you, Professor Granger, for your patience and kindness.”

  
Sirius laughed, nudging her side. “You should feel honoured, ‘Mione!” He said with a smirk. “The students don’t frequently do this.”

  
“I— thank you so much,” Hermione whispered, accepting the package with shaky hands. The four students nodded and left— Flint and Murray exited the Great Hall together while Dedalus and Affton took a seat at the Ravenclaw table.

  
With a small smile, she opened the package carefully and laughed when she saw four books tied tightly with a multicolour ribbon. 

  
“Seems like Padfoot is their favourite professor no longer,” bemoaned Sirius playfully, popping a bonbon into his mouth. “What’ve you got there, ‘Mione? _Prefects Who Gained Power, The Scars of Salem: Essays on the Witch Trials of 1692, An Anthology of Eighteenth-Century Charms_ and _A Guide to Medieval Sorcery._ ” He scratched his neck, face twisting into a grimace. “That sounds _fascinating…_ ”

  
Hermione grabbed her beaded handbag, cast a _Reducio_ on the pile of books, put them inside the bag and laughed warmly. “Shove off, Sirius. I haven’t had the chance to read any of these books just yet.”

  
“Uh-huh…” Sirius hummed, glancing at the Slytherin table mischievously. “Is that… come with me, quick!”

  
Bewildered, Hermione followed him. “Sirius, what—”

  
“Shut up and watch the carnage!”

  
Soon enough, Hermione spotted a nervous-looking Lucius Malfoy standing in front of Narcissa Black. Unsurprisingly, the older Black sisters were outright glaring daggers at him, disgust written all over their faces.

  
“Well, well, well... what do we have here?” Sirius laughed, rubbing his hands together with a shit-eating grin.

  
Malfoy blanched. “Professor Black! I—” he took a step back, laughing nervously. “I-I was just leaving,” he stammered, walking backwards and colliding with a few students. “Have a nice day!”

  
Bellatrix sighed dreamily, a smirk gracing her pale features. “My, how ballsy! See you around, Lucy!”

  
“Oh, shove off…” Narcissa whispered angrily— and yelped when Andromeda snatched her Honeydukes’ box. “Dromeda, give that back!”

  
“Nuh-uh!” Andromeda laughed, opening the box and grabbing a piece of chocolate quickly. With a flourish, she took a bite of the delicacy. “Hmm... milk chocolate with strawberry inside,” she announced with a wide smirk. “Pay up, Bella!”

  
Much to Hermione’s surprise, Bellatrix’s expression turned mischievous. “Now that you mention that… Siri, you owe me ten galleons. I found Andy snogging Teddie in a pretty little alcove this morning.”

  
The middle Black sister groaned, throwing the Honeydukes’ box back at Narcissa without much care. 

  
“How much does Trixie—” the eldest Black sister growled, eyes narrowing dangerously. “—owe you, my dear Drommie?” Sirius asked, retrieving the gold from his pocket.

  
“Five galleons,” mumbled Andromeda through gritted teeth. “I hate you so much, Bella.”

  
Smirking broadly, Bellatrix blew her a loud kiss. “Love you too, sis.”

  
The moment Sirius gave them five galleons each, a bunch of owls entered the Great Hall— golden eyes fell upon a certain snowy elf. Hermione swallowed hard, following the bird’s movements like a hawk.

  
“Careful—!” Bellatrix caught the falling package, eyebrows furrowed. “And Black’s caught the brown box, Slytherin wins the match!” Sirius laughed, nodding at the package with a smirk. “Who’s that for, Trixie?”

  
The witch frowned. “It doesn’t say—” surprise crossed her face, silver eyes examined the charmed note critically. A message appeared on the paper, only visible to Hermione and Bellatrix.

_Bellatrix,_

_Thank you for the chocolate, I loved it._ _  
__I still think that white and milk are_  
 _way superior, though._ _  
Hope this convinces you._

_H.G_

“Dromeda...” Narcissa stage-whispered, eyeing the package with a very suspicious smile that made Hermione shudder. The youngest Black rarely smiled like... like _that._ To make things worse, a haughty chuckle danced off her lips as a smug expression crossed her features. “If this is what I think it is— Dromeda... pay up.”

“No! I refuse—” her chocolate eyes studied the package critically, stopping on the seemingly blank note for a second. “There’s not enough evidence yet. Could be from literally anyone.” 

  
Carefully placing the box on her lap, Bellatrix raised an eyebrow. “What in Morgana’s name are you two talking about, hm?”

  
Sirius gasped and laughed boisterously, looking between Hermione and Bellatrix with a broad smirk. The poor Transfiguration frowned and shuddered again, confused.

  
“Merlin’s balls,” he whispered in awe, looking back at his oldest cousin with wide eyes. “So it’s true… Drommie, pay up.”

  
Andromeda glanced up. “Wait a moment… Sirius, do you know something?” When her cousin winked mischievously, an incredulous laugh rolled off her lips. “You totally do! How unfair—!” Andromeda rummaged through her pockets and eventually pulled fifteen galleons out of them. Adding the five from before, she handed the gold to a triumphant-looking Narcissa. 

  
In their distraction, Bellatrix locked eyes with Hermione for a fleeting moment.

  
Shockingly, her mouth curved into a small smile.

  
Bellatrix winked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meissa is the name of a star in the Orion constellation :)


	21. XXI: Back to square one.

_Hermione,  
I think I’ve found a way to cure the Longbottom’s insanity.  
Find me in the library after midnight. I wish to discuss this  
with you. And come cheer for us today, will you?  
B.B_

  
The message faded away and her napkin returned to normal.  
  
  
A smile stretched her dry lips as she caressed the cream-coloured fabric.  
  
  
 _I can almost hear that smirk of hers,_ thought Hermione wryly, her heart fluttering. _How did everything come to this? Last time I watched her play, I couldn’t even look at her in the eye without panicking._

 _  
_Hermione took a long, long sip of her coffee and looked at the Slytherin table thoughtfully. Their entire Quidditch team was laughing at something Rosier had apparently said, sporting amused grins. _And now, four months later, I cannot stop myself from looking for her in the Great Hall or in class._

  
Inevitably, a weary sigh danced off her lips. _Pining for a student... how did I stoop so low?_

  
Bellatrix smacked Rosier upside the head, her mouth curved into that dazzling smirk of hers. _Worst thing is... it feels right. It feels so right it almost hurts— and I shouldn’t be feeling like this. She’s my student, for God’s sake!_

  
Sirius then strode into the Great Hall, a grimace on his handsome face. _  
  
  
Ah, looks like someone’s got a hangover_ again, thought Hermione, amused.

  
Most professors had gathered in the staffroom the prior night, gossiping and placing bets on many things: future Quidditch and House Cup results, jobs, relationships, grades... you name it. Needless to say, the reunion had gotten out of hand rather fast. 

  
“Looking fresh, cousin!” Bellatrix laughed, pausing her motivational — _again,_ _highly doubtful_ — speech for a moment. 

  
To nobody’s surprise, Sirius gave Bellatrix the finger and kept walking.

  
“Bloody kid...” Sirius muttered through gritted teeth, taking a seat next to Hermione. “Hope someone knocks her off her broom today.”

  
Hermione elbowed him. “Don’t say that!”

  
Rubbing his temples, he groaned. “Merlin’s balls… keep your voice down.”

  
“Professor Black, please refrain from such inappropriate behaviour in the future,” said Minerva wryly, placing her cutlery down with surprising elegance.

  
The students exited the Great Hall gradually, talking about the incoming Slytherin versus Ravenclaw match with palpable eagerness. Some of them were betting, much to Hermione’s blatant amusement.

  
For a brief moment, golden eyes found silver ones. 

  
“Oh, shove off…” Sirius muttered, producing a vial of something — _looks like a hangover potion_ — from his jacket. He poured the green liquid into his chalice and stirred the new mixture with a teaspoon. “Minnie, please share your wisdom. How in Merlin’s name do you deal with these killer hangovers so damn well?”

  
Teal eyes gleamed with smugness. “You’ve given me worse headaches, Sirius. The worst of hangovers pales in comparison with your student years.”

  
Sirius smiled proudly and downed his beverage in one go. “Disgusting,” he rasped weakly, rubbing his throat with a grimace. “Effective, but disgusting.”

  
“Stop whining, it’s unbecoming,” said Minerva, rising from her seat. “Now then, let’s go. Some of us have substantial amounts of money on the line.”

  
“I swear to Merlin, I’ll disown Trixie if she doesn’t catch the bloody Snitch.”

  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  


“HELLO AND WELCOME TO HOGWARTS’ THIRD QUIDDITCH GAME OF THE SEASON!” Ariana Riggs commented, making the whole crowd cheer loudly. “TODAY’S GAME, SLYTHERIN VERSUS RAVENCLAW!”

  
Sirius snickered. “Believe it or not, Slytherin and Ravenclaw have bad blood,” he whispered into her ear. “The Ravenclaw team’s got a brilliant Keeper and impressive Beaters. They’re the _only_ ones who can actually knock Trixie off her broom.”

  
“Really?” Hermione asked, watching the students gather round in a circle at the centre of the pitch. “That’s frightening! Your cousin is an amazing player...”

**_  
“Ever taken a Bludger to the head, professor?”_ **

  
Hermione gasped, but the sound was muffled by Riggs’ enthusiastic comments.

  
“The Bludgers are up, followed by the Golden Snitch. Remember, the Seeker who catches the Snitch ends the game!”

  
“Trixie better catch it... I don’t wanna lose thirty galleons to Flitwick,” whispered Sirius.

  
Madam Hooch grabbed the Quaffle.

  
Everyone in the stands leaned forward expectantly, anxiousness and excitement mingling in the air. Interestingly enough, lots of Hufflepuffs were wearing Slytherin scarves for this match.

  
“THE QUAFFLE IS RELEASED AND THE GAME BEGINS!”

  
William Greengrass caught the Quaffle and zoomed towards the Ravenclaw goals at an astonishing speed, but Septima Smith stole the Quaffle together with Edgar Hawthorne.

  
They flew towards the Slytherin goals, passing each other the Quaffle back and forth.

  
Hawthorne threw the Quaffle and—

  
“GREGORY CRESSWELL STOPS THE QUAFFLE!”

  
With a smirk, Creswell kicked the ball away.

  
“FELIX ROSIER GRABS THE QUAFFLE, SPEEDS CLOSER TO THE RAVENCLAW GOALS— CAPTAIN SUSAN SULLIVAN STOPS IT, WHAT A GREAT SAVE.”

  
Hermione giggled softly. “They’re quite good… the Slytherins cannot do anything!”

  
“ASTRA WINDSOR REGAINS THE QUAFFLE, AIMS FOR THE RAVENCLAW GOALS… AND SULLIVAN STOPS IT AGAIN!” Riggs commented, jumping on the stop a couple of times. “SULLIVAN PASSES THE QUAFFLE TO SMITH, SMITH HEADS TOWARDS THE SLYTHERIN GOALS, THROWS THE QUAFFLE AND— SCORE!”

  
Half of the crowd cheered, the other groaned.

  
“SEPTIMA SMITH SCORES 10 POINTS FOR RAVENCLAW!”

  
Sirius tutted, following the Quaffle’s movements with his binoculars. “For the love of— I can practically hear Flitwick rubbing his hands together. C’mon, Trixie, do something already!”

  
“OH? LOOKS LIKE THE SLYTHERINS ARE SCHEMING!” Riggs said, bringing everyone’s attention to three unmoving players. “CAPTAIN BELLATRIX BLACK IS TALKING WITH AVERY AND ROSIER. WHAT COULD THEY POSSIBLY BE PLANNING?”

  
Soon enough, Rosier regained possession of the Quaffle. Together with Greengrass, he zoomed towards the Ravenclaw goals once more. Dodging player after player, Bludger after Bludger; the boys approached the goals and threw the ball.

  
“SULLIVAN STOPS THE QUA— SULLIVAN IS HIT BY A BLUDGER, COURTESY OF OLIVER AVERY. THAT’S GOTTA HURT... SO _THAT’S_ WHAT THE SLYTHERIN TEAM WAS SCHEMING!”

  
Everyone gasped, watching the girl fall and fall and fall.

  
“THE SLYTHERIN CHASERS TAKE ADVANTAGE OF THE SITUATION AND— SCORE, TEN TO TEN!”

“This brings me back,” said Hermione with a small smile, feeling a little bad for Sullivan. “The old Slytherin team did something like that years ago.”

  
Sirius laughed, his mouth curving into a melancholic smile. “Regulus orchestrated something similar in his fifth year, too! Guess it’s a Slytherin thing, hm?”  
  


After a few minutes, the bell rang again and again and again.

  
The crowd cheered and jeered. 

  
Sullivan did not get up.

  
“BRYAN MONTGOMERY HAS SPOTTED THE GOLDEN SNITCH— BUT BELLATRIX BLACK DOESN’T GIVE CHASE?” Riggs commented, frowning. “What in the actual fuck?”

  
“LANGUAGE, MISS RIGGS!”

  
With her binoculars, Hermione looked for Bellatrix— and she gasped, terror seeping into her very soul.  
  
  
Bellatrix was hunched over, droplets of sweat running down her face. Her right hand clawed at her robes, right above her heart, and twisted the fabric _hard_. Her trembling fingertips were stained dark red, Hermione noticed.

  
“AND THERE’S A BLUDGER FLYING TOWARDS BLACK— NONE OF THE BEATERS ARE AROUND— BLACK DOESN’T SEEM TO HAVE NOTICED YET—”

  
Hermione gasped, covering her mouth with her left hand. “Bellatrix...”

  
“THE BLUDGER HITS HER SIDE,” said Riggs with a grimace, twisting in pain sympathetically. “AND BLACK’S DOWN.”

  
Bellatrix hit the floor hard.

  
“ROSIER APPROACHES BLACK, LANDS AND KNEELS BESIDE HER— AND GIVES A THUMBS-UP TO MADAM HOOCH. LOOKS LIKE BLACK WILL MAKE AN ENTRANCE AGAIN.”

  
Sirius exhaled shakily, running a hand through his long hair. “Trixie, please don’t rejoin the match. Be sensible for once, for Merlin’s sake!”

_  
Like you’re one to talk…_

  
“THIS MUST BE PAYBACK FOR WHAT THEY DID TO SULLIVAN,” commented Riggs. “THE SLYTHERINS DON’T LOOK VERY CONCERNED, THOUGH. THEY JUST KEEP FLYING AND FLYING— GREENGRASS APPROACHES THE GOALS AND… SCORE! SIXTY TO TEN.”  
  
  
When the score was 130 to 50, Bellatrix twitched and got up sluggishly. Holding her wounded side, she limped — _can’t nobody see that she’s bloody limping!?—_ toward her fallen broom like a woman on a mission. Eventually, she reached its side and reached out for it.

  
Hermione scowled, clutching the binoculars tighter and tighter. “Please... don’t tell me—” 

  
And with a pained grimace, Bellatrix grabbed her broom and soared into the air one more time.

  
“What an idiot,” said Hermione and Sirius at the same time.

  
“BLACK’S BACK IN THE GAME!” Riggs said enthusiastically, any and all worries apparently forgotten. As though Bellatrix hadn’t been knocked off her broom by a Bludger roughly half an hour before. “AND GIVES MONTGOMERY CHASE! BOTH SEEKERS PULL INTO A DIVE—”

  
Soon enough, Bellatrix caught up with Montgomery. 

_  
An impressive feat,_ thought Hermione bitterly whilst chewing on her bottom lip. _Considering that her bloody left arm is hanging limply by her injured side!_

  
“BLACK KICKS MONTGOMERY, MONTGOMERY ELBOWS BLACK!” Riggs informed, following both Seekers like a hawk. Slytherin scored again, but she didn’t comment on that. “THEY’RE PRACTICALLY SKIMMING THE GROUND! BLACK KICKS MONTGOMERY AGAIN— AND MONTGOMERY FALLS DOWN! Damn… is the floor _that_ appealing today?”

  
Minerva rubbed her eyes tiredly. “Miss Riggs…”

  
“I-I’m sorry, Headmistress,” said the Hufflepuff, scratching her throat with a sheepish smile. “THERE’S A BLUDGER APPROACHING BLACK AGAIN— AVERY STOPS IT! HAH, NOT TODAY, SATAN.”

  
With a snort of amusement, Hermione shook her head whilst Minerva screamed yet another indignant _“MISS RIGGS, LANGUAGE!”_ at the top of her lungs.

  
Then, Hermione spotted it.

  
Flying at an arm’s length from Bellatrix, zigzagging up and down unpredictably. 

  
The Golden Snitch. 

  
Bellatrix took her remaining hand off her broom and made a wild snack, not unlike Harry’s back in their second year; gripping the broom only with her legs. The crowd yelled and gasped as she literally kissed the floor again, but she simply raised her right arm —at a very awkward and painful angle, mind you— and shook the Golden Snitch a bit.

  
“BLACK’S CAUGHT THE GOLDEN SNITCH— and— did she pass out just now? I— seriously, what the fuck is going on today?”

  
“MISS RIGGS!”

  
Hermione exhaled wearily. “Sirius, your cousin is a bloody menace.” 

  
“Believe me, I know.”

 _  
And... Riggs has a point,_ thought Hermione whilst watching Madam Pomfrey kneel beside the unconscious witch. 

_  
What is going on today?_

  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  


_I’ll see you at the library tonight._

_B.B_

  
Unsurprisingly, the message had appeared on her napkin during dinnertime. At first, she had felt really annoyed... perhaps a bit infuriated, even.

  
After much pondering, Hermione had managed to calm down somewhat. _I could always ask her about the blood... something’s clearly not okay with her._ And with that thought in mind, she marched toward the eerily empty library at midnight and waited for the Slytherin witch to show up.

  
Two hours later, Bellatrix strode into the library with a wide smile on her bandaged face. Probably still basking in her post-victory glory.

  
Hermione closed her book, _Hogwarts: A History_ ; torn between anger and concern— _Bellatrix should be in the Hospital Wing, for God’s sake!_   
  
  
“Hey... are you alright? You got it pretty badly during the match,” Hermione started nervously, thrumming her fingers on the book’s worn-out cover. “You should be resting in the infirmary, you know?”

  
Waving a dismissive hand, Bellatrix stepped closer. “You worry too much, I’m fine.”

  
Hermione frowned. “Your face is covered in bandages—”

  
“Just a few scrapes.”

  
“You got hit by a Bludger—”

  
“Already took a potion for the pain.”

  
“You were bleeding,” stated Hermione with unwavering finality, standing up abruptly. Worry coursed through her veins, wild and unrestrained. “I saw it, Bellatrix. You were bleeding right here—” she gestured vaguely at her chest. “You were sweating, clawing at your robes and _bleeding._ ”  
  


Bellatrix took a step back, scowling. “That’s not true,” she sneered in a haughty manner— _she_ _sneered at me!  
  
_

“I saw it.”  
  


“You saw wrong.”  
  


An incredulous laugh rolled off her lips. “Excuse you?” Hermione said scathingly. “I know what I saw, thank you very much. You were bleeding, Bellatrix… just like when I found you—”  
  


“YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU’RE TALKING ABOUT.”  
  


Golden eyes widened in surprise.  
  


“You don’t know—” she took another step back, her right hand disappeared inside her robes’ pocket. “You have _no_ idea whatsoever...”  
  


“Then tell me!” Hermione exclaimed, getting desperate. “Help me understand, Bellatrix. Please... just talk to me, tell me what’s wrong.”  
  


Fear crossed Bellatrix’s face for a fleeting moment, twisting her pale features into something scared and vulnerable and _broken._   
  


Then her pale features hardened. Became guarded and unreadable, sharp and dangerous.  
  


The muggle-born took a step forward.   
  


The pure-blood took two steps backwards.  
  


“Bellatrix...” Hermione muttered glumly, growing more and more anxious by the second. “Bellatrix, please let me help you...”  
  


“I don’t want your help,” said Bellatrix tersely, pulling her hand out of her pocket— and throwing a tied scroll at her. Breathing heavily, she turned around and walked away. “Goodnight, Professor Granger.”  
  


Choking back tears, Hermione observed her retreating form dumbly. Just like that, their tentative friendship had faded into _nothing_ before Hermione’s astonished eyes _._   
  


Carefully, Hermione grabbed the scroll and removed the string. 

  
  


_(Hypothesis)_

_The cure to mindless insanity._

_  
Wit-Sharpening Potion + Restoration Potion + Memory Potion + Master Legilimens + Felix Felicis (consumed by the Legilimens)_

_  
The Longbottoms were tortured into insanity with the Cruciatus Curse_ ~~ _by a group of Death Eaters_~~ _back in 1981. Thus, their minds are broken beyond repair. Theoretically speaking, that is._

 _  
The mind isn’t a book, to be opened at will and examined at leisure. Thoughts aren’t etched on the inside of skulls, to be perused by any invader. The mind is a very complex and many-layered organ. Or at least most minds are… It is true, however, that those who have mastered_ _Legilimency_ _are able to delve into their victims and to interpret their findings correctly. Together with* someone who’s known the Longbottoms for decades (Minerva McGonagall? Horace Slughorn? Augusta Longbottom?), the Master Legilimens could put those fragments together once again._

_  
To ensure the Master Legilimens’ eventual success, they could consume Felix Felicis before each session. The potion will immediately grant them a higher success ratio. Furthermore, they could also use the other potions listed above to enhance the Longbottoms’ mental capacities and make their minds more accessible._

_  
*If a Legilimens can take someone into_ _their own_ _mind, it is safe to assume that they can bring a third party into another person’s mind. Just like side-along Apparition, but with Legilimency._

Hermione sniffled, smiling sadly at the parchment. “You really are a brilliant witch, Bellatrix...” she whispered whilst winding the scroll.  
  
  
Then it hit her.  
  


_No, this isn’t over yet.  
  
_

_I have to return this scroll to Bellatrix._   
  


_There’s still a chance…_


	22. XXII: Down memory lane.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! So… I wasn’t overly pleased with chapter 22, which is why I deleted it all of a sudden. I wrote it again, tried to improve it and whatnot. This is partly because of my writer's block; when it hits, I feel like all my works are insufficient and an eyesore… _nervous laugh_ and also, consistent style? psh, I don’t know her.
> 
> Anyhow, I’m really sorry about that! Here’s an improved version of chapter 22 (spoiler: I made myself cry), also known as _Bellatrix curses like a sailor for almost 7k words straight._
> 
> About Sirius’ wand: 
> 
> This is not Sirius’ first wand. He acquired it after escaping Azkaban while being a member of the Order of the Phoenix. Ollivander made a replica from memory, but it's not exactly the same— this wand is made of Ebony wood (Ebony wands have an impressive appearance and reputation, being highly suited to all manner of combative magic, and to Transfiguration. Ebony is happiest in the hand of those with the courage to be themselves. Frequently non-conformist, highly individual or comfortable with the status of an outsider), has a Dragon Heartstring core, is 12” long and solid.
> 
> Also, I love this => The wand has a distinctive handle, being squarish in shape. Symbols are etched upon it. Some of them look slightly similar to the ones tattooed on Sirius’ body. The symbols say “more or less human”.
> 
> Interestingly enough, Bellatrix’s wand has symbols etched upon the handle as well... They’re not as visible, but they’re there. I’ve always wondered about those, honestly.

“Can we talk?”  
  
  
Hermione turned around, flabbergasted.  
  


Immediately after their _little_ quarrel at the library, the Slytherin prodigy stopped going to Transfiguration class. She moved around the castle unseen and unheard, avoiding Hermione like the plague at all times. To make things _even_ worse, her relatives —Sirius included— remained infuriatingly tight-lipped about the whole situation.   
  


But now...  
  


“Bloody hell, no need to act so surprised...” grumbled Bellatrix dryly, sauntering down the grand Transfiguration classroom. “I’ll ask you again; can we talk?”  
  


For whatever reason, Bellatrix looked downright dreadful. Her raspy voice lacked its usual lilt, her unruly curls were impossibly dishevelled, her uniform was wrinkled beyond imagination, her pallid skin was paler than normal and her silver eyes were practically lifeless.  
  


Torn between worry and hurt, the muggle-born shrugged. “You’ve been avoiding me for two weeks, but sure.”  
  


“I don’t _avoid_ people,” sneered Bellatrix bitterly, leaving her worn-out satchel on the floor unceremoniously. Her hands trembled in an almost imperceptible manner. “I’ve been busy, is all.”  
  


_Whatever helps you sleep at night, Bella.  
  
_

Much to Hermione’s surprise, the Slytherin unsheathed her walnut wand— her grip on its handle was very firm, overly so. A thoughtful hum echoed across the classroom, promptly followed by a deep sigh.   
  


“I’ve been... thinking...” drawled Bellatrix, sounding oddly unsure. “And I’ve noticed that you’re _always_ making the first move: apologising for your shitty behaviour all of a sudden, visiting me at the Hospital Wing, proving me wrong outside the Prefect’s Bathroom, opening the Chamber of Secrets and looking for me... I— you’re such a Gryffindor, honestly.”  
  


Hermione raised an eyebrow.  
  


“Very noble and reckless...” Bellatrix hummed, stepping forward. “You’re making me look bad,” she jested dryly. “I owe you an explanation, don’t I?”  
  


Golden eyes widened in anticipation.  
  


“Yes, you certainly do,” replied Hermione whilst rummaging through her beaded handbag. After some seconds, she pulled Bellatrix’s scroll out with a small smile. “I’ve read your hypothesis, by the way. You… you’re absolutely brilliant, Bellatrix.”  
  


Bellatrix grabbed the parchment as her cheeks grew rosy. “I— whatever. It still needs a couple of tweaks. The recovery process would be dreadfully slow, so I have to find—”  
  


“Nonsense,” Hermione interjected calmly. Her voice left no room for discussion. “The brain is both a many-layered organ _and_ the central organ of the nervous system. Whether we like it or not, recovering from psychological trauma takes an _awful_ amount of time. You’ve come up with a feasible hypothesis, Bellatrix… you should be proud of yourself.”   
  


The younger witch frowned. “Well, tis not mine per se...” she grumbled, “my sisters helped me a lot.”  
  


“My point still stands.”  
  


Putting the parchment away, Bellatrix huffed. “I... whatever. That’s not what I wanted to talk about,” she said tersely. With a harsh flick of her wand, she slammed the doors shut. “Do you trust me?”  
  


Hermione thrummed her fingers on the desk behind, feeling oddly serene for some reason. “What are you planning to do?”  
  


“Just answer my question.”  
  


“I do.”  
  


Bellatrix raised her wand and aimed at Hermione. “I’m not gonna hurt you, promise. I just need you to stay calm and look me in the eye, alright?”  
  


Undeniably intrigued, Hermione met her now scorching gaze.  
  


“ _Legilimens._ ”

* * *

  
  


**_February 27th, 2000.  
  
_ **

Professor Black wandered around the classroom, gathering his shoulder-length hair up in a bun. After a few seconds, he stopped in front of a trembling closet.  
  


“Alright, does anyone know what’s inside this wardrobe?”  
  


“That’s a Boggart, that is!” Emma Vane answered, eyeing the wobbling closet rather nervously. “They love dark and enclosed spaces. There’s one at home, underneath our parents’ bed and—”  
  


“Very good, Emma!” said Professor Black with a devilish smile. “Now then, can anybody tell me what a Boggart _looks_ like?”  
  


“Nobody knows,” said Bellatrix with disinterest. Her raspy voice echoed across the huge classroom, breaking the awkward silence that had fallen upon the group. For once, her curls were gathered up in a loose bun held together by her crooked wand. “Boggarts are shape-shifters. They can take the shape of whatever they think will frighten us most.”  
  


“Couldn’t have explained it better myself,” drawled Professor Black dryly, facing the trembling closet with newfound interest— Bellatrix huffed angrily and glared daggers at him. “ _This_ one moved in yesterday afternoon. Seeing that you didn’t study Boggarts last year, I’ve asked our beloved headmistress to leave it here for the remainder of the term. It’s about time you learned how to dispel a bloody Boggart...”  
  


The students groaned and huffed, taking his words quite personally. “Tis not our bloody fault that Professor Jackson chickened out before winter break!”  
  


Professor Black artfully ignored them. “This one hasn’t assumed a form just yet. Nobody knows what a Boggart looks like when it’s alone— except for Mad-Eye, apparently. In any case, our Boggart will _immediately_ become whatever each of us fears the most as soon as I let it out.”  
  


Beside her, Felix Rosier snickered quietly. “Oi,” he whispered, nudging Bellatrix. “Five galleons say that McGonagall’s gonna be someone’s deepest fear.”  
  


“Easy wager,” said Bellatrix, “I’ll pass.”  
  


“This means!” Professor Black continued, choosing to ignore Ariana Riggs’ small sputter of terror. “That we have a huge advantage over this Boggart before we begin. Have you spotted it, McLaggen?”  
  


Bellatrix smirked. “McPussy spotting shit, now that’s a good joke.”  
  


“Er...” the Gryffindor mumbled, cracking his knuckles and looking around nervously. “I haven’t, professor.”  
  


Evan Fawley raised his hand. “The answer is quite simple,” he said with a sheepish smile, almost as though he hadn’t insulted McLaggen’s mental capacities. “This classroom is full of people; the Boggart won’t know what shape it should take.”  
  
  
“Precisely!” said Professor Black, nodding at the Hufflepuff boy. “When dealing with a Boggart, being accompanied is always key. It becomes confused. Which should it become, a headless corpse or a flesh-eating slug?” he exclaimed with feigned thoughtfulness, ignoring the blatant disgust on the students’ faces. “Back in my school days, I once saw a Boggart make that very mistake— tried to frighten two classmates at the same time and turned itself into a half slug. Not remotely frightening, I’ll tell you that.”  
  
  
With a flourish, he unsheathed his ebony wand. “The charm that repels Boggarts is quite simple, yet requires force of mind. You see, the thing that really finishes a Boggart off is _laughter._ You gotta make it assume a shape that you find amusing.” Needless to say, nobody found _that_ amusing. “You will practise the charm without wands first. After me, please… _Riddikulus!_ ”  
  


“ _Riddikulus!_ ”  
  
  
“Good,” said Professor Black, “very good. But that’s the easy part, I’m afraid. You see, the word alone isn’t _enough._ And this is where you come in, Ariana!”  
  
  
The wardrobe shook again, but not as much as Riggs. Hesitantly, the Hufflepuff girl walked forward as though she were heading for the gallows.  
  
  
“Right, Ariana… first things first: what frightens you _most_ in the world?”  
  
  
Her lips moved, but no noise came out.

  
“Didn’t catch that, sorry!” said Professor Black cheerfully.  
  


Riggs swallowed hard. “Lord Voldemort...”  
  
  
The class became eerily quiet.  
  
  
Sirius cleared his throat awkwardly. “Understandable. You’re a muggle-born, aren’t you?” Riggs nodded. “There’s nothing to worry about— I want you to picture You-Know-Who in, say, your grandma’s clothes. Can you do that for me? Can you see them in your mind’s eye?”  
  
  
“A tall hat with a stuffed vulture on top… a very long dress… a fox-fur scarf… a huge red handbag…” Riggs whispered, twirling her alder wand nervously. “Yeah, I can picture them!”  
  
  
“When our dear Boggart bursts out of this wardrobe and sees you, it’ll immediately assume the form of You-Know-Who,” said Professor Black, clearly enjoying himself despite the gloomy atmosphere. The nerve of him... “And thus, you shall raise your wand and cry _‘Riddikulus’_ whilst concentrating hard on your grandma’s clothes. If all goes well, the Boggart will be forced into those horrid clothes.”  
  


As the wardrobe wobbled again, the students laughed boisterously.

  
“If Ariana is successful, the Boggart will shift its attention to each of us in turn,” explained Professor Black, giving everyone —or rather, _mostly_ everyone— a meaningful look. “Take a moment to think of whatever scares you the most and imagine how you might force it to look comical.”

  
The room grew quiet again.

  
Bellatrix tilted her head and hummed. _What scares me the most..._ she mused, scratching her left forearm absentmindedly. _Rodolphus in a towel? No fucking way. That’s bloody disgusting, not frightening... Slughorn kicking me out of the Quidditch team? Ugh, this is so stupid! I fear nothing..._ she thought as her eyes fell upon her forearm— it was shaking. She clenched her jaw tight, suddenly infuriated. _Nothing, I say! I fear_ ** _nothing_ **_in this world.  
_  
  
“Everyone ready?” said Professor Black eventually.

 _  
_Feeling emboldened, Bellatrix approached the wobbling closet a tad— curse her morbid curiosity, really.  
  


“Ariana, we’re all going to back away,” explained Professor Black in a hard voice. “Let you have a clear field, alright? When the time comes, I’ll call the next person forward… everyone, move back so that Ariana can get a clear shot—”  
 _  
__  
_They all retreated —some more reluctantly than others— and backed against the walls, leaving Riggs alone beside the wardrobe. The poor girl looked pale and frightened, but she rolled up her sleeves and held her wand tight.

  
 _The little Hufflepuff has guts, I’ll give you that..._ Bellatrix thought approvingly, examining the girl’s defensive stance with a little smirk. _Morgana’s tits, I cannot wait to see Him in grandma clothes!_  
  


“On the count of three,” warned Professor Black, who was pointing his wand at the handle of the wardrobe. “One — two — three — _now!_ ” A jet of sparks shot from the tip of Professor Black’s wand and hit the doorknob.  
  


The closet burst open.  
  
  
Lord Voldemort stepped out slowly, a murderous glint in his red eyes.  
  


“ _Ri— Ri—_ ” she backed away, trembling from head to toe. In the meantime, Boggart-Voldemort approached her, holding his yew wand loosely between his index and middle finger.   
  


“Ah, looks like the filthy mudblood...” hissed Boggart-Voldemort in that awful voice of his, cracking a wicked smile. “Has chosen to die… _Avada Keda_ —”  
  


“ _R — R — Riddikulus!_ ” Riggs finally squeaked, aiming her wand at Boggart-Voldemort with shaky hands.  
  


There was a loud noise, not unlike a whip crack— Bellatrix straightened her back on instinct, shoulders tense and jaw set.  
  


Boggart-Voldemort stumbled; he was now wearing a hideous lace-trimmed dress and a towering hat with an equally horrendous moth-eaten vulture. _And_ swinging a huge crimson handbag. Even his claw-like fingernails were painted red.   
  


There was a roar of laughter and the Boggart paused, confused.  
  
  
“Bloody hell, the Dark Lord’s never looked better!” Bellatrix laughed boisterously, tears welling up in her silver eyes. Her fellow Slytherins snickered as well. “So handsome, so fabulous… I think I’m in love!”  
  
  
Professor Black clapped his hands, a wide smile stretching his lips. “Evan Fawley! Forward!”  
  


Riggs moved away, giving Fawley a high five.  
  


Boggart-Voldemort rounded on the Hufflepuff boy. With a loud crack, he morphed into a bloodstained and bandaged mummy. Its sightless face was turned to Fawley and it began to walk toward him _very_ slowly, dragging its feet across the floor, its stiff arms rising—  
  


“ _Riddikulus!_ ” Fawley cried out.   
  


A bandage unravelled at the mummy’s feet. The creature soon became entangled and fell face forward, its decapitated head rolling off and around the classroom.  
  
  
“Bloody disgusting…” said Bellatrix quietly, eyeing the rotten flesh with morbid interest. Upon noticing the mummy’s rancid odour, she tilted her chin up and wrinkled her nose. “Fascinating, but bloody disgusting…”  
  


“Rosier!” roared Professor Black.  
  


The blond Slytherin darted past Fawley.  
  


 _Crack!  
_ _  
__  
_Right before their eyes, the mummy became a woman with floor-length black hair and a practically skeletal, green-tinged face— a banshee. The creature opened its mouth wide and an unearthly sound filled the classroom. A few windows nearly cracked.  
  


 _Hadn’t I known any better,_ thought Bellatrix with a shit-eating grin, _I would’ve thought that’s Auntie Adelie...  
  
_

“ _Riddikulus!_ ” shouted Rosier.  
  
  
The banshee made a rasping noise and clutched her throat. Her voice was completely gone. _Crack!_ And the banshee turned into a rat, which chased its tail in a circle various times, and then — _crack!—_ became a rattlesnake, which slithered and writhed before — _crack!_ — becoming a single, bloodstained eyeball. _  
  
_

_Very wicked, cousin..._ Bellatrix snickered quietly, her smirk growing wider and wider. _This family’s a fucking freak show.  
  
_

“Our dear Boggart’s very confused!” shouted Professor Black. “We’re getting there, everyone. Avery, your turn!”  
  


Rosier playfully elbowed Oliver Avery as he hurried forward. _  
  
_

_Crack!  
  
_

The eyeball turned into a severed hand, flipped over and started creeping along the floor like an aimless crab.  
  


“ _Riddikulus!_ ” yelled Avery.  
  


There was another snap before the hand got trapped in a pink mousetrap.  
  


_Is that supposed to be amusing?  
  
_

Professor Black snorted and clapped his hands again. “Excellent! Black, you’re next!”  
  


With an annoyed huff, Bellatrix leapt forward. She reached for her wand and stared at the Boggart challengingly until—  
  


_Crack!  
  
_

Quite a few people screamed.  
  


The severed hand morphed into Cygnus Black III, who stood tall and proud in the middle of the classroom. The man wore a black suit and Oxford shoes; his black beard was handsomely trimmed and his hair was combed to the side.   
  


Boggart-Cygnus smirked charmingly and advanced on Bellatrix. “My dear daughter, what a lovely coincidence…” he drawled, his voice velvety and captivating. “I’ve been looking for you all morning long. There’s something very important I wish to ask you.”   
  


_How the fuck— why is he— stay away from me—  
  
_

Bellatrix stepped back whilst her mouth curved into a quivering smile. Her silver eyes were wide and panicked. _This isn’t— why am I— bloody hell...  
  
_

“Do you still wish to become an Auror, my dear?” Boggart-Cygnus questioned quietly, venom dripping from his voice. “I know you do… Bellatrix, you shan’t disrespect his memory like that. Have you forgotten your duties? Have you forgotten our commitments? Have you forgotten where our loyalty lies? You cannot simply throw all that away, you insolent girl.”  
  


Rather shakily, Bellatrix pressed her left arm against her stomach. _No— leave me out of that— I don’t have anything to do with your— just stay away from me!  
  
_

Still smirking suavely, Boggart-Cygnus stepped forward once more. His pale fingers stroked a leather holster, which was wrapped around his right thigh, almost lazily. This action made Bellatrix flinch hard and take a few steps back.  
  


“Shall I teach you another lesson, my dear? Your skin is... such a lovely canvas, after all…”  
  


_STAY AWAY FROM ME—!  
  
_

The distraught witch covered her mouth with her right hand. Her shoulders shook up and down.  
  


“You’re a disappointment, Bellatrix. My biggest failure… almost as disappointing as your cousin Sirius, that blasted blood-traitor!” he spat the name acidly and stepped forward again. “A disappointment since birth, I say. You, who should’ve been born an _heir._ You, who should’ve been my greatest creation… _you_ are a disappointment, my dear.”  
  
  
 _I already know that— shut up— back off— leave me alone!  
  
_

With wobbly knees, Bellatrix took another step back whilst shaking her head. A choked sound left her mouth, seeping through the gaps of her fingers and echoing softly across the classroom.  
  


“But do rest assured… I’ll make sure your sisters—”  
  


That did it.  
  


Bellatrix uncovered her mouth and _cackled_ madly, staggering back and forth. Her lips curved into a wide and eerie smile. Her high-pitched laughter thundered across the classroom, unsettling beyond human comprehension. A stream of fire issued from her crooked wand and burnt a hole in the wooden floor.  
  


Her classmates backed against the walls even further while Boggart-Cygnus paused and twitched, confused. After some seconds, the Boggart changed forms again and again and again, never settling for one in particular.  
  
  
The Slytherin cackled and ran one hand through her curls, tugging _hard._ Her thoughts were a blurry mess with no consistency whatsoever, running wild and uncontrolled. Various windows shattered; sharp glass shards flew everywhere, nearly cutting a few students in the process.  
  


“Class dismissed!” Professor Black screamed, opening the door with a harsh flick of his wand. Moments later, he disintegrated the shards with some well-placed _Protegos._ “Everyone, leave at once!”  
  


Taking another step back, Bellatrix cackled harder— she tripped and fell on her arse.  
  


Seconds later, darkness claimed her.  
  


**·····  
  
**

Silver eyes flew wide open, exhausted and bloodshot.   
  


For whatever reason, her _entire_ body hurt greatly— from her fingertips to her fluttering heart. To make things worse, there was a constant and barely-there buzz between her ringing ears. _Huh, weird... the fuck’s happened?_ she thought, eyeing her surroundings with a frown.  
  


A chandelier hung from the ceiling. There were many rows of beds with white sheets, privacy screens and bedpans. High windows stood behind them, illuminating the empty beds warmly. The place smelled like potions and cleanness.

The infirmary.  
  


“You’re finally awake!” someone said cheerfully— Andromeda, whose rosy cheeks were tear-stained. “How are you feeling, Bella?”  
  


“Like shit.”  
  


Andromeda’s smile faltered a bit. “Understandable, I suppose...” she mumbled before chewing on her bottom lip thoughtfully. “I— well… you’ve been unconscious for two days, Bella. I was very worried…”  
  


“Two days?” whispered Bellatrix incredulously, glancing at the window above her. Morning light seeped through the glass, impossibly bright and annoying. “Why am I here? What happened?”  
  


Visibly nervous, Andromeda scratched the back of her head. “Er… you fainted during DADA,” she informed in a small voice. “According to Madam Pomfrey, your magical core was malfunctioning and—”  
  
  
“That’s absolutely ridiculous!” replied Bellatrix, an incredulous and high-pitched giggle dancing off her dry lips. She tried to sit up, but her entire body failed her. “There’s nothing wrong with me, Andy… and you know that!”  
  


“Of course, but Sirius said—”  
  


“ _Professor Black_ can shove his wand where the sun doesn’t shine for all I care!”  
  


Andromeda flinched hard.  
  


With an exhausted sigh, Bellatrix rubbed her eyes. “Fuck, I… I didn’t mean that,” she said softly, reaching for Andromeda’s right hand. “I shouldn’t have screamed at you… I’m sorry, Andy.”  
  


Their rings —a Christmas gift from Bellatrix, a token of their friendship and love— glittered in the sunlight, revealing matching carvings.  
  
  
  
  


Smiling at their constellations, Andromeda shrugged one shoulder. “Don’t worry, ‘s fine.”  
  


“It’s _not_ fine, Andy…” Bellatrix mumbled through gritted teeth, frustrated tears welling up in her eyes. “I shouldn’t have done that— I’m nothing like them, for fuck’s sake…”  
  


“You’re nothing like them,” repeated Andromeda softly, nodding at her. “You’re a good person, Bella… when you’re not jinxing Gryffindors in the corridors—” her older sister snorted and rolled her eyes, “I’m right and you know that, you idiot. Anyhow… deep down, you’re a really good person. You’re always looking after us and making sure we’re okay… feeling things _is_ alright, getting overwhelmed _is_ alright, shouting from time to time _is_ alright. Stop worrying so much.”  
  


Bellatrix huffed, looking away from Andromeda’s chocolate eyes. They were full of love and warmth, unbelievably so. “And when did you get so wise and clever, hm?”  
  


For a moment, everything became a blur.   
  


**·····  
  
**

Soon enough, the infirmary morphed into the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom once again.  
  


“Don’t you dare lie to me!” exclaimed Professor Black, throwing his hands in the air. “D’you think I’m stupid or something? Things are definitely _not_ okay! Your father’s your bloody Boggart, Bellatrix. That’s messed up!”  
  


 _How impressive... he_ **_does_ ** _know my name!  
  
_

Bellatrix scoffed. “And whose bloody fault is that, hmm?” she asked in a dangerously quiet voice, taunting him. “You heard him, didn’t you? _Almost as disappointing as your cousin Sirius, that blasted blood-traitor..._ ” _  
  
_

Professor Black laughed incredulously, bewilderment written all over his pale face. “Wait a damn moment… are you blaming _me?”  
  
_

“That’s exactly what I’m doing, yes!” she shouted, jaw clenched and shoulders tense. The barely-there buzz had gradually turned into an unbearable ringing. “Because _you_ ran away. Because _you_ betrayed our family. Because _you_ ignored your duties and fled like the bloody coward _you_ are,” she spat scathingly, her breathing shallow and hectic. “ _Everything_ is your damn fault!”  


“For the love of— is that what _you_ really think, Bellatrix?” Professor Black questioned solemnly, his grey eyes blazing with fiery determination. “Tell me, is that what _you_ really believe?”  
  


_Yes— no— of course— this is— I don’t know...  
  
_

Absolute silence followed.  
  


“That’s what I thought…” Professor Black muttered, running a hand through his hair. “Listen, I want to help you—”  
  


“And what do you care, hm?” she questioned bitterly, cutting through his words like a sharp and unforgiving knife.   
  


Professor Black huffed, eyes widening a tad. “For your information, I _do_ care. You are my family and—”  
  


Bellatrix cackled, scratching her left forearm distractedly. “That’s bloody rich coming from you, don’t you think?” she asked with a little pout, her voice childish and vicious. “You’ve been ignoring _me_ like the fucking plague for months, dear cousin. Interestingly enough, you get along with Andy _quite well..._ ” No amount of mockery could’ve possibly masked the raw hurt that dripped from her voice. “Whyever is that, hm?”   
  


“You…” he whispered, a frown creasing his pale features. “You reminded me of my mother— the proud stance, the haughty eyes, the cutting smirks, the mocking laughs…”  
  


_The audacity of this bitch!  
  
_

Placing a hand atop her heart, Bellatrix gasped loudly. “THAT’S INSULTING— how fucking dare you? I am NOTHING like that bloody psychopath!”  
  


Professor Black smiled apologetically, remorse swirling within his grey eyes. “I see that,” he admitted quietly. “I can see that now…”  
  


Bellatrix clenched her fists as a frustrated groan left her mouth. “Where were you when we needed you, huh?” she questioned tersely. “When my sisters were born? When my parents took our happiness away? When the Dark Lord visited Black Manor almost weekly? When the Death Eaters threw parties at home? When father betrothed me to Rodolphus Lestrange back when I was nine years old? When my sisters were scared shitless for their lives? I was safe here, but what about them!?”  
  


“I—”  
  


“ _Miss Black, you should be more grateful,_ ” said Bellatrix in a shockingly good imitation of McGonagall’s voice. “ _Professor Black wanted to live with Harry Potter after the war, you know? Instead, he’s here— looking after you..._ ” She laughed and spread her arms wide. “And when you do appear, it’s out of obligation. My point still stands; what do you fucking care, cousin?”   
  


“That’s not true!” he exclaimed, looking absolutely frustrated. “I _made_ a choice— I’m here because I want to. I could’ve turned McGonagall’s job offer down, but I didn’t!” Clenching and unclenching his hands, he sighed deeply. “Listen to me _very_ carefully, Bellatrix; I lost two brothers during the First Wizarding War— Regulus Black and James Potter… and I _almost_ lost Moony at the Battle of Hogwarts…” He paused and swallowed hard. “I’ve made many mistakes, alright? _Way_ too many to count, actually. I should’ve protected the Potters with my life. I should’ve taken Regulus with me when I had the chance... I vehemently refuse to make those same mistakes twice, Bellatrix.”  
  


Flabbergasted, she took a step back and tilted her chin up. “I don’t believe you— I don’t trust you,” she hissed, “you’ll run away. The moment everything goes south, you’ll run away like the bloody coward you are.”  
  


“Not a chance,” he said firmly. “I’m staying, whether you like it or not.”  
  


_Words easily go with the wind— he’ll run away— don’t let him in— he’ll stab you in the back as soon as you let your guard down— he’s a traitor!  
  
_

Once again, everything became a blur.

**·····  
  
**

This time, the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom morphed into a peculiar yet nondescript corridor— the Hall of Hexes.   
  


Bellatrix hummed absentmindedly, sauntering down the hallway three times whilst running her fingers along the stone walls. _I wanna get into the Ravenclaw’s grand library. Need to return some books— I wonder... do they have my order ready? Wait, what in Morgana’s name did I even pre-order again?  
  
_

Suddenly, an ornate door appeared out of nowhere.  
  


_Hah, and people say Slytherins are the shallow ones with a weird penchant for aesthetics. Just look at this bloody door!  
  
_

With a triumphant smirk, Bellatrix entered the Room of Requirement.   
  
  
  
  


Huge banners —from all four Houses, mind you— and chandeliers hung from the ceiling, decorating the library. Countless tables were scattered throughout the ever-growing room, hidden between rows and rows of bookshelves. The place smelled like parchment, ink and knowledge; pleasantly so.  
  
  
David Copperfield, the Ravenclaw Head Boy, nodded at her. “Good evening, Bells. How’s life treating you?”  
  
  
 _Eh... same as always, I suppose. Everyone’s calling me names behind my back, calling me crazy left and right, picking on Andy because they’ve got nothing better to do...  
  
_

Bellatrix shrugged and opened her satchel. “Just fine,” she said as she pulled out three books — _The Valley of Fear, Robinson Crusoe_ and _Adventures of Huckleberry Finn_ — and left them on the nearest table. Her mouth curved into a smile, impossibly charming and unbelievingly fake. “Everyone thinks I’m crazy and avoids me like the plague, it seems. Nothing new, really...”  
  


“Bloody idiots,” muttered Copperfield through gritted teeth, collecting the books with great care. “Don’t listen to ‘em, Bells. Wizarkind doesn’t know shite about mental health, I’m afraid.”  
  


_What the—  
  
_

“Mental health…” repeated Bellatrix incredulously, “Whatever do you mean? Copper, I’m positively fine.”   
  


Unsurprisingly, the Ravenclaw sighed. “Right... and everyone adores History of Magic and Professor Binns’ cheerful personality—” the witch snorted loudly. “You’re so prideful, Bells. Too prideful, I’d say.”  
  


“I’m a Slytherin, dearie.”  
  


Copperfield chuckled softly, pulling a small notebook from his robe pocket. “That you are,” he said as he flicked through the pages. “That you are indeed... you pre-ordered _The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, Dead Poets Society_ and _Jane Eyre_ ; correct? Well… we only have the first three, my apologies.”  
  


“Tis fine,” Bellatrix said distractedly, “just give me another one. Enlighten me.”  
  


“Aye-aye, ma’am.”  
  


Minutes later, Copperfield returned with three books— _The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, Dead Poets Society_ and _An Unquiet Mind.  
  
_

Intrigued, Bellatrix grabbed _An Unquiet Mind_ and skimmed the first pages. Apparently, the book detailed Kay Redfield Jamison’s experience with something called bipolar disorder and how it affected her in various areas of her life.  
  


_Mental health... he’s given me a book about mental health, the bloody prat!  
  
_

“You think you’re funny, don’t you?”  
  


“Nope, I’m dead serious,” said Copperfield with a half-smile. “I’m just trying to help you, Bells.”  
  


“I don’t need—”  
  


“Slytherins and their bloody pride…” Copperfield muttered, rolling his eyes. “There’s nothing wrong with needing help, dammit— just… just read the book, okay? If you don’t find it useful, I’ll get you some firewhiskey.”  
  


Bellatrix exhaled dramatically, but considered his offer nonetheless. “No promises,” she said whilst storing the three books inside her satchel. “I’ll come back in two weeks. See you around, Copper.”  
  


“Before you go!” said Copperfield loudly, which made nearby students shush him. “You’re always welcomed here, Bells. Regardless of what others say.” He nodded and smiled warmly. “Not everyone thinks you’re crazy, y’know? Sure; the younger students are _very_ easily influenced, but many muggle-borns and half-bloods know better. Hell, even some of your pure-blood fellows get it! My point is; there are people who’re vouching for you, Bells. You’re not alone in this.”  
  
  
Despite his reassuring words, Bellatrix didn’t miss the way the other students present looked at her— with great suspicion and underlying fear.  
  


_Such filthy lies, Copperfield...  
  
_

All of a sudden, the Ravenclaw’s grand library vanished into thin air.  
  


**·····  
  
**

As always, the Hogwarts Express was brimming with life and laughter... and never-ending gossip about her.  
  


 _Seriously... don’t they know I can_ **_hear_ ** _them?  
  
_

“Looks like McGonagall’s made Black a Prefect this year…”  
  


“Why?”  
  


“Beats me. Her family probably bribed McGonagall or— fuck, she’s there!”  
  


Rolling her eyes, Bellatrix ventured into her compartment. Upon closing the door carefully, she groaned and slumped down next to Narcissa.   
  


Her sister looked up from her _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1_ and raised an eyebrow inquiringly. “Everything alright?”  
  


“Peachy.”  
  


“You’ve definitely seen better days, Bella!” laughed Edward Tonks, rousing Andromeda for a fleeting moment.   
  


Bellatrix glared at him. “Edward, if you call me Bella one more time—” her voice trailed off gradually. A minuscule part of her didn’t want to finish that threat; the bloke was actually quite nice and bearable. _For a bloody Hufflepuff, that is...  
  
_

Seconds later, whatshername stopped in front of their compartment and opened the door. “Anything from the trolley, dears?”  
  


“Iced pumpkin juice, two Liquorice Wands and a Chocolate Frog,” said Bellatrix automatically, getting up from her seat. “What do you want, everyone?”  
  


“I’ll have a Cauldron Cake, please!”  
  


Unable to stifle a yawn, Andromeda rubbed her teary eyes. “Are there any Jelly Slugs left?” she questioned groggily, her voice raspy from sleep. “If so, get me three— no, four.”  
  


“What about you, Cissy?”  
  


Narcissa looked away, fiddling with her collar nervously— a nondescript chain from where a golden ring hung. She preferred wearing hers like that; to have it closer to her heart at all times. It glittered in the sunlight, revealing a beautiful carving that, in a way, matched her sisters’ ones.  
  
  
  


Sliding the golden ring on her index finger absentmindedly, Narcissa sighed and shook her head. “I’m fine, thank you.”  
  


_Liar...  
  
_

“Add another Chocolate Frog,” said Bellatrix dryly, without even missing a beat. She gave whatsername two galleons and collected the goods. “Keep the change.”  
  


After delivering the sweets, Bellatrix sought Narcissa’s ice-blue eyes.  
  


_Come on, look at me... Cissy, please...  
  
_

“I was wondering…” she said with feigned thoughtfulness, sitting beside her sister again. Her stomach was up in knots, twisting and twisting and twisting. “Did you enjoy the Honeydukes’ sweets I’ve been sending you, Cissy?”  
  


“Yes, thank you.”  
  


_She’s lying, she’s hiding something...  
  
_

With outstanding gentleness, she pushed Narcissa’s chin up. After some hesitation, ice-blue eyes met Sickle silver ones.  
  


“Don’t lie to me, daffodil.”  
  


Tonks snickered, definitely amused by the affectionate nickname; but Andromeda elbowed him and mumbled something under her breath. A quiet _‘ohhh’_ echoed through the compartment, followed by a thoughtful _‘that is very cute...’  
  
_

Narcissa huffed; most of her hair turned as black as Bellatrix’s. “Stop calling me that!”  
  


“Answer my question, Cissy.”  
  


Looking rather ashamed, Narcissa sighed again and chewed on her bottom lip. “I… Mother confiscated them. All of them… I’m sorry, Bella.”  
  


_That fucking—  
  
_

“Fucking bitch,” grumbled Andromeda, staring at her Jelly Slugs fixedly. Anger and frustration swirled within those chocolate eyes of hers, so foreign yet so familiar.  
  


Narcissa gasped. “Language, Drommie!”  
  


Andromeda shrugged. “Cissy, the language rule is a bunch of bollocks,” she said with a tiny smirk before devouring one Jelly Slugs in three solid seconds.  
  


“I’ll drink to that,” said Bellatrix proudly, handing Narcissa the Chocolate Frog she’d gotten for her. “Cissy, please…”  
  


After much deliberation, Narcissa sighed and accepted the treat. Her hair turned platinum blonde once more. “Thank you, Bella.” She opened the little package and caught the chocolate frog mid-jump effortlessly.  
  


“Damn, your reflexes are good!” Tonks praised loudly. “That was bloody impressive. You’d make a fine Seeker!”  
  


“Bella’s the Seeker already,” said Narcissa in a monotonous voice, staring at the chocolate frog thoughtfully. She still didn’t trust —or like, for that matter— Tonks, that was for certain.  
  
  
The Hufflepuff boy tilted his head. “Yeah, the _Slytherin_ Seeker! If you end up in another—”  
  


“I won’t.”  
  


Bellatrix snorted and waved a dismissive hand. “Cissy’s the most Slytherin person you’ll ever meet. I’m sure the Sorting Hat will place her in Slytherin in record time, just you wait.”  
  


A few hours later, the Sorting Hat cried _‘SLYTHERIN!’_ without even touching Narcissa’s head.  
  


Alright, maybe just a little.  
  


For a millisecond.  
  


Her older sisters, who had been hatstalls —Bellatrix for almost six minutes, Andromeda for five and a half— during their sorting ceremonies, welcomed her with open arms and twin smirks.  
  


Narcissa was finally home.  
  


Then, everything became a blur again.  
  


**·····  
  
**

“Bella, you look like shit!”  
  


“Fuck off,” grumbled Bellatrix, devouring some chips whilst making notes on Everlasting Elixirs rather messily. Her eyes ached and her glasses were falling off her nose, but she kept on writing and writing and writing. “My O.W.L.s are in three days, I need to prepare myself.”  
  


Andromeda rolled her eyes. “You’ve been studying nonstop for five weeks, Bella. We’re worried sick about you!”  
  


“Five weeks? More like the entire year… and all because you want to break Hermione Granger’s records,” said Narcissa quietly, playing with her food and grimacing. “You should take a break— all that studying is making you grumpier than usual.”   
  


Bellatrix shrugged, shooting Narcissa a worried look. “What can I say? I’m an overachiever.”  
  


“There’s a fine line between—”  
  


“Look, the mail’s arriving!”  
  


Dozens of owls entered the Great Hall, hooting happily and dropping packages _everywhere._ Upon spotting Saiph, their mother’s _beloved_ nightmare of an owl; Bellatrix dropped her quill and grabbed her crooked wand.   
  


Unbeknownst to her, Andromeda had done the exact same thing.  
  


With a scowl, Bellatrix aimed at the brown owl. _“Stupefy!”_ she shouted, hitting the bird square in the chest. People didn’t call her _The Best Duellist of Her Age_ for no reason, after all. Seconds later, the owl collapsed onto the Slytherin table gracelessly— there was an envelope tied neatly around its right leg, she noticed. Huffing, Bellatrix ripped it off and began reading.  
  


 _My dear daughters,_ _  
__  
__How’s everything at Hogwarts going? Your father and I miss you terribly._

_Narcissa, are you watching your figure as I told you? Please, if your sisters offer you sweets or biscuits, do turn them down. I’m positively sure that Lucius Malfoy wouldn’t want anything to do with you if you start neglecting yourself. Your sisters are a very bad influence in that regard, mon tout. Just don’t indulge them, alright?_

_Bellatrix, are you finally taking care of your appearance? Seriously, my dear; you should put more effort into your looks. As the eldest and the heiress of the Noble House of Black, you should show some self-respect. Haven’t you learned anything from those etiquette lessons your father and I have been giving you since you were une enfant? You’d be stunning if you didn’t scowl all the time. Maybe you’d finally find an acceptable suitor._

_Andromeda, please tell me you’ve finally quit those horrid subjects— Divination and Muggle Studies. They’re a waste of time, love. Just think about it, alright? You still have enough time to walk out of those classes and choose something different. Something more dignified, like Study of Ancient Runes and Arithmancy!_

_With love,_

_D.R_ _  
  
_

“Bella!” hissed Narcissa, looking around nervously. “You’re not helping your image, for Merlin’s sake!”  
  


“Says the one who spiked Hestia Lynch’s pumpkin juice,” spat Bellatrix furiously, an ugly snarl creasing her pale features.  
  


Andromeda snickered, trying to read over Bellatrix’s shoulder. “That was bloody brilliant and you know it.”  
  


“And I didn’t get caught!” Narcissa said, indignation written all over her scrawny face. She was surprisingly —and quite worryingly— good at spiking people’s drinks somehow. “Besides, she insulted you!”  
  


“And mother’s killing you, you idiot!” hissed Bellatrix, smacking the blasted letter against the table. “D’you think I haven’t seen you skipping meals, huh?”  
  


Narcissa fell silent, her tired ice-blue eyes saddening perceptibly.  
  


_Fuck, look at what you’ve done— this is your fault— fix it, make it better!  
  
_

“MISS BLACK!”  
  


Rising from her seat, Bellatrix growled low. “This conversation is _far_ from over, you hear me?” she warned, jaw clenched tight, before stepping away. “I’ll see you both in the library— seven o’clock, like always. Andy, you’re in charge till I come back.”  
  


Andromeda nodded.   
  


“Through the door, Miss Black,” said Headmistress McGonagall sombrely, looking more disappointed than Bellatrix had ever seen her.  
  


_Disappointment— disappointment— disappointment...  
  
_

Her hands trembled with rage; the letter crumpled further and further underneath her iron grip. Bellatrix nodded and moved off along the teachers’ table, feeling everyone’s eyes on the back of her head. Sirius was seated at the very end— he wasn’t smiling. He didn’t wink at Bellatrix, or wave, or give _any_ of his usual signs of greeting. He looked completely astonished and simply stared at Bellatrix as she passed by. The witch nodded at him grimly before going through the door.   
  


She found herself in a small and cosy room, lined with countless paintings of witches and wizards.  
  


The faces in the portraits turned to look at her as she entered the place. A wizened witch flitted out the frame of her picture and into the one next to it, which contained a wizard with a walrus moustache. The wizened witch started whispering something in his ear.  
  


“Miss Black,” said McGonagall darkly, venturing into the room. Sirius and Horace Slughorn followed her close, looking both confused and bewildered. “Explain yourself right now!”  
  


Bellatrix snorted indignantly. “No, I’ll do something even better—” she handed McGonagall the crumpled parchment, cracking a fake smile. “See for yourself, headmistress.”  
  


With a frown, McGonagall grabbed the letter carefully. Slughorn and Sirius approached them, reading the letter over McGonagall’s shoulder— and in a matter of seconds, Sirius’ expression turned dark and solemn.  
  


“This is…” McGonagall whispered, disbelief crossing her face. “This is horrible…”  
  


“I’m not gonna apologise for my actions,” said Bellatrix nonchalantly, shrugging one shoulder. “I’ve done nothing wrong— I’m merely protecting my sisters.” A grimace tugged at her pursed lips; frustrated tears welled up in her silver eyes. She refused to cry, to break down in front of her professors, for she was anything but weak. “Our mother’s poisoning her mind, feeding her lies! Narcissa is eleven, for fuck’s sake! And... bloody hell, Andromeda should be able to study whatever the fuck she wants!”  
  


“We must do something about this,” said Sirius grimly, eyeing the letter with undeniable disgust. “This cannot go on!”  
  


Bellatrix sighed, scratching her left forearm absentmindedly. “No shit… I’ve got a plan, but it’ll take lots of patience and some time— two or three years, maybe.”  
  


“You have no patience whatsoever, Trixie...” Sirius said dryly, looking at her with narrowed eyes. “What’s this plan of yours about?”   
  


“Pot, meet kettle.”   
  


Everything vanished into thin air.  
  


* * *

  
  


The moment Bellatrix left her mind, Hermione leaned against a desk whilst gasping for air almost greedily.  
  


“I— fucking hell…” she muttered uncharacteristically, massaging her sweaty temples. Her heartbeat thundered between her ears; foreign emotions coursed through her trembling body and intoxicated her senses. Uncertainty, rage, disgust, helplessness, frustration, concern, desperation...  
  


After catching her breath, Hermione faced Bellatrix again— at some point, the Slytherin had turned away from her. Her arms were crossed and her shoulders impossibly tense.  
  


Hermione chewed on her bottom lip. “I— thank you…” she said quietly, approaching Bellatrix with slow and deliberate steps. Afraid of startling the other witch all of a sudden. “For showing me those memories... for trusting me enough to show me those memories…”  
  


“Now you know.”  
  


“Look at me,” whispered Hermione, stopping right behind Bellatrix. “Please?”  
  


With a heavy sigh, she turned around slowly— silver eyes, impossibly tired and unguarded, met golden ones. “There’s your answer,” she said with feigned nonchalance. “Are you happy now?”  
  


“I’m not sure if I am…” replied Hermione honestly, smiling warmly. “Relieved? Yes, very. Happy? I don’t really know… I understand you better now, which is good. That’s what really matters to me…” Carefully, she pulled Bellatrix into a loose hug, giving her more than enough room to pull away if wanted. This time, the younger witch didn’t squirm in her arms. Nor did she scream frantically. “I told you, didn’t I? I’m not afraid of you. I’m not going _anywhere._ When things go south, I _will_ be there for you.”   
  


Bellatrix huffed softly, leaning into Hermione’s warm embrace a little.   
  


“Good to hear,” whispered Bellatrix. “Are we okay?”  
  


“I think so,” said Hermione quietly, breathing in Bellatrix’s intoxicating scent— sandalwood, ink and coffee. “Are we okay?”  
  


Bellatrix hummed affirmatively; her mouth curved into a small smile against Hermione’s neck. “I think so.”  
  


“Will you come back to class now?”  
  


An amused cackle echoed across the classroom. “Missed me?”  
  


_More than you could possibly know...  
  
_

“Just a little.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lovely gifs are from @nyssalance on Tumblr. Go check them out, there's one of Draco and the Black brothers, too!
> 
> Bellatrix and Andromeda were hatstalls, hands down. Bellatrix has traits from all four Houses (yes, even Hufflepuff: loyalty and hard-working), which is why the Sorting Hat spent nearly six minutes wondering where to put her. The same could be said about Andromeda, though it was more of a Hufflepuff vs Slytherin vs Gryffindor. Ultimately, the Sorting Hat placed them in Slytherin because they asked to be sorted there.
> 
> Narcissa's sorting is a carbon copy of Draco's, I know. That was intentional ;)
> 
> Once again, Saiph is the name of a star in the Orion constellation :)
> 
> So... as I mentioned before, I’m going through writer’s block! Fan-fucking-tastic... looks like my exams have drained me more than I initially expected. I’ve been rewriting the story a bit (chapters 1-7 are already rewritten) to battle against the writer’s block a bit, but I dunno if I’ll manage to write another chapter soon. As for now, I hope you’ve enjoyed this one. I’ll see you on the flip side!


	23. XXIII: A bleeding heart of stone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Missed me? ;)
> 
> So... I’m not overly proud of this chapter— I blame my writer’s block and lack of motivation. University’s been kicking my ass real good for the last few weeks so I just yeeted myself off existence. But I’m back! For now...

Bellatrix was late.  
  
  
Fifty minutes late, to be more precise.  
  


Feeling absolutely dejected, Hermione slumped on her seat and started drumming her fingernails against the wooden armrests. Her nervous and incessant tapping resonated throughout the empty Transfiguration classroom together with the deafening tick-tock of the clock. Try as she might, she could not comprehend why Bellatrix, who supposedly had two free periods that afternoon, hadn’t shown up to their meeting just yet.  
  


It was quite ironic, really.  
  


Just as promised, Bellatrix had returned to class right after their reconciliation exuding her usual confidence and sporting that dazzling smirk of hers. However, much to nobody’s surprise, Hermione had given her detention for skipping classes and not handing in several assignments during her absence.  
  


But now…  
  


The girl was late.  
  


_Goddammit, Bella!  
  
_

Slowly but surely, her mind wandered elsewhere as her thoughts drifted from one scenario to another. They followed an overly familiar path until they eventually stumbled upon the few memories Bellatrix had shown her several days ago. There were many things to unpack and carefully analyse, to understand; a few explanations and even _more_ questions somehow. In hindsight, however, many things made sense now: Bellatrix’s cryptic behaviour and initial wariness, the Black sisters being very protective of one another, the famous Boggart incident almost everyone seemed to know about, Bellatrix and Andromeda watching over Narcissa like a hawk during lunchtime, people fearing the eldest Black left and right...  
  


_I have to agree with Narcissa, though. Shooting an owl down doesn’t exactly do wonders to one’s image.  
  
_

If, and only if, she focused hard enough; Hermione could still feel Bellatrix’s emotions like a worn-out drug running sluggishly through her veins. Like a faint yet persistent electric shock tickling all her senses numb.  
  


Hidden beneath a charming mask of casual disinterest and brutal self-confidence, an impeccable disguise with nearly no flaws whatsoever; lay a roaring inferno of overflowing emotions: rage, disgust, uncertainty, concern, frustration… all of them impossibly suffocating and maddening in their own special ways.  
  


_One thing’s for sure: Bella definitely knows how to mask her emotions behind a dazzling smirk and an overly smug exterior most of the time.  
  
_

Hermione sighed and looked at the clock again.  
  


Fifty-five minutes late.  
  


Nothing.  
  


Unsurprisingly, her drumming grew faster as her mind kept wandering down memory lane.  
  


Although the extremely questionable things Boggart-Cygnus had claimed still confused her greatly, Hermione couldn’t help but wonder about Bellatrix’s primary reaction: a panic attack and, presumably, her very first breakdown upon seeing her father in the classroom and hearing him speak words of disappointment, loyalty and betrayal with frightening nonchalance. As though he was merely discussing the weather over the Daily Prophet on a Sunday morning.  
  


_If I’m not mistaken, Bellatrix wished to become an Auror and Cygnus Black didn’t approve of her choices, apparently. He believed that she was disrespecting someone’s memory and that she’d forgotten about her so-called duties. About their commitments and loyalties. And... at some point... he taught her a lesson? Something about her skin being a lovely—  
  
_

“I DID IT! I FIGURED IT OUT!”  
  


_Speak of the devil…_

  
“Look who’s decided to show up,” said Hermione, unable to fight back a smile.   
  


Bellatrix rolled her eyes. “I’m not that late,” she claimed, artfully ignoring the clock. “Anyway, I figured it out— I’ve found a way to trigger the Longbottoms’ memories and make their recovery faster.”  
  


“Really?”  
  


Placing a few papers on Hermione’s desk, she nodded fervently. “Look at this— _in some cases, a sensory trigger can cause an emotional reaction before a person realises why they are upset._ And then we have this— _another theory is that triggers are powerful because they often involve the senses. Sensory information such as sights, sounds and especially smells; plays a large part in memory. The more sensory information is stored, the easier a memory is to recall._ And lastly— _episodic memory is the ability to remember personally experienced events associated with a particular time and place. An individual has to engage in ‘mental time travel’ and remember that they were the one who lived the event._ ”   
  


Hermione looked at her, shocked and bewitched.

  
“In other words— should we bring the Longbottoms back to Hogwarts and show them around the castle, some of their memories might be triggered. Most of their professors are still here— Professor McGonagall was the Head of Gryffindor during their student days. And they were friends with Siri and Remus!”

  
“You believe this will work?” she asked quietly, in complete awe.

  
“It works,” said Bellatrix vehemently. “I tried it out on the way here. For the sake of science, as Muggles say. I got a positive outcome almost immediately, which proved that sensory stimuli does trigger memories.” 

  
Hermione frowned, confused. “I’m sorry. You— you what?”

  
“Doesn’t matter,” said Bellatrix, smiling brightly and pointing at her annotations. “It really works, Hermione! I believe that our hypothesis, paired up with the sensory stimuli thing, will heal the Longbottoms’ minds. I’m almost entirely sure— ninety-eight percent sure, actually.”

  
Nodding dumbly, Hermione cleared her throat. “And… er… when should we bring them here?”

  
Bellatrix hummed thoughtfully. “I think the Longbottoms should undergo therapy first; get a solid basis before being exposed to sensory stimuli and getting their memories triggered… so summertime, probably. Easter would be way too soon, I think.”

  
“I see— going somewhere?”

  
“Well duh!” exclaimed Bellatrix, crossing the classroom in four strides. “Someone has to tell Professor Longbottom about this— this discovery, don’t you think?”

  
“For the love of—” she grumbled, standing up and gathering Bellatrix’s annotations hastily. “Bella, wait up!”

  
All of a sudden, right outside the Transfiguration classroom; the steady clickety-clack of Bellatrix’s heels came to an end.

  
Hermione nearly ran smack into her on the way out. Noticing the tenseness in Bellatrix’s shoulders, she frowned. “Sorry, I— er… are you alright?”

  
“You called me Bella.” 

_  
Did I really—? I guess I did— wait a moment, when did I start thinking of her as Bella?_

  
“Only my sisters do that,” whispered Bellatrix, staring at nothing in particular. Her alabaster cheeks turned pink as she said, “I could get used to that; you calling me Bella.”

  
And the corners of her mouth tilted upward ever so slightly, curved into the smallest yet sincerest of smiles. Satisfaction crossed Bellatrix’s features, made them soften perceptibly. When their eyes finally met, Hermione could have sworn she saw entire galaxies and constellations dwelling within those silver eyes of hers.

  
Bellatrix started walking again, though slower than before. A placid stroll down Hogwarts and its many corridors. “Hermione… Hermione…”

 _  
God, this witch’s going to be the death of me,_ thought Hermione as she blushed a bright shade of red. 

  
“Yes?” 

  
“Just trying to figure out how to shorten your name. Coming up with a nickname would be much easier...” said Bellatrix resolutely, muttering yet another _Hermione_ under her breath. The way she pronounced those three mere syllables never ceased to send shivers running down Hermione’s spine, to make her heart flutter and skip a beat. “How does ‘Mione sound?”

  
“Oh my God…”

* * *

  
  
  
“C’mon!” chuckled Bellatrix as they approached Greenhouse Three. “ _Hermie the Hermit_ is absolutely hilarious and you know it.”

  
“No, it really isn’t,” groaned Hermione for the sixth or seventh time in less than five minutes, rolling her eyes in mock exasperation. “Your sense of humour is debatable at best, Bella.”

  
Bellatrix snorted. “You love it.”

_  
Unfortunately._

  
“You just don’t want to— oh, there he is— Professor Longbottom!”

  
Looking downright shocked, Neville stopped watering the Fluttery bushes and turned around to greet them. 

  
“I— good afternoon, you two. What can I do for—”

  
“My sisters and I have found a way to restore your parents’ sanity.”

_  
Way to break the ice, Bella._

  
“I— you— what? Are you— are you serious?”

  
“Dead serious,” said Bellatrix with a deadpan expression and a raised eyebrow. “Whyever would I joke about something as important as this?”

  
Neville nodded, looking at Bellatrix as though she’d grown a second head. “Fair point,” he said softly. “You’ve found a way to help my parents— to restore their sanity. I thought— I’ve been searching for— how?”

  
“Perhaps _found_ isn’t the most appropriate term,” mused Bellatrix, pulling out a familiar-looking scroll from inside her pockets. “ _Created_ is much more accurate, actually. I started searching for a non-existent cure back in fourth grade— a complete waste of time. I found nothing, obviously, so my sisters and I started theorising and experimenting with different herbs and potions.”

  
Removing the string that kept the scroll bound, Neville swallowed hard. 

  
“ _If an experienced Legilimens can bring someone into their own mind, it’s safe to assume that said Legilimens can also bring a third party into another person’s mind. Just like side-along Apparition, but with Legilimency instead,_ ” Neville read quietly, looking at Bellatrix and Hermione on occasion. His voice cracked with emotion as his hands started shaking uncontrollably. “ _Together with someone who’s known the Longbottoms for decades, someone like McGonagall, Slughorn or Augusta Longbottom; the Master Legilimens could put those broken fragments together once again. Furthermore, to ensure the Master Legilimens’ eventual success, they could consume Felix Felicius before each session—_ ”

  
“That was Cissy’s idea,” interjected Bellatrix nonchalantly, looking at some Flitterblooms with newfound interest. “The whole Master Legilimens and Felix Felicis thing.”

  
Neville nodded. “— _the potion will immediately grant them a higher success ratio. Moreover, they could also use the potions listed above—_ ”

  
“Andy came up with that.”

  
“— _to enhance the Longbottom’s mental capacities and make their minds more accessible. Last but not least, the couple could also be subjected to sensory stimuli after several sessions to trigger their memories and accelerate their recovery. In other words: bring the Longbottoms back to Hogwarts and show them around the castle._ ”

  
Bellatrix crossed her arms and shifted her weight from one leg to another, waiting impatiently for Neville to say something. “Well…?”

  
Exhaling shakily, Neville glanced up. “I— I don’t have enough words to— thank you. I really mean it, I’m so grateful. Do you—” his voice cracked again, tears running down his flushed cheeks. “Do you think this will work? Will this really bring my parents back?” 

  
Taken aback by Neville’s tears, Bellatrix shrugged nervously. “I— well— unfortunately, my sisters and I haven’t had the chance to try this one someone who’s been tortured into insanity— but we believe it’ll work.”

  
“Could I— please, I need to be alone.”

  
Hermione smiled sadly. “Sure. I’ll see you at dinner, right?”

  
“I— yeah, of course...” whispered Neville distractedly as he skimmed the hypothesis again. After a few seconds, he looked up and smiled at the Slytherin witch. “Bellatrix? Thank you so much. Seriously, I owe you one. If you ever need something— you or your sisters— just let me know, alright?”

  
Looking rather uncomfortable, Bellatrix nodded dumbly and exited the Greenhouse Three in four long strides. Amused by her antics, Hermione said goodbye to Neville and followed Bellatrix with a bright smile.

  
Upon catching up with Bellatrix, she chuckled softly. “That went well, don’t you think?”

  
“I— well— I guess?”

  
Hermione’s smile dropped. “What’s wrong?”

  
“Nothing’s wrong,” said Bellatrix, frowning. Clearly struggling for words. “I’m just… thinking, is all. I think— undoing our parents’ felonies feels really nice, you know?”

  
“I can imagine.”

  
Bellatrix took a deep breath. “My sisters and I— we’re better than them. They tortured people into insanity, we found a cure for it.” She scratched her arm nervously. “They taught us hate, we unlearned it. They criticised and insulted our disowned relatives, we accepted Siri back into our lives.”

  
Slowly but surely, Hermione reached for Bellatrix’s hand and interlaced their fingers.

  
“For the longest time, my sisters didn’t know love and acceptance— except mine… but even that was… tainted,” said Bellatrix in a small voice, eyeing their linked hands curiously. “I really tried to make them feel happy, loved and safe. To give them a relatively normal childhood...”

  
Hermione smiled knowingly. “There’s a _but_ coming, isn’t it?”

  
“How perceptive of you,” said Bellatrix, shrugging. “But the more I think about their heinous wrongdoings and felonies, the more I wonder if I’ll end up like them… like my parents.”

  
Once again, the Transfiguration Courtyard was shockingly empty.  
  
  
“Theoretically speaking,” said Bellatrix in an eerily quiet voice, staring at the armillary sphere with a haunted expression. “I could use the _Cruciatus Curse_ properly at any given moment— as it’s meant to be used.”

**_  
“LIES! Crucio— Crucio— CRUCIO!”_ **

  
Pushing those unpleasant memories away, Hermione inhaled sharply and squeezed Bellatrix’s hand. “And how does someone use the… _Cruciatus_ properly?”

  
“You need to mean it,” drawled Bellatrix absentmindedly, shaking a little. “You need to _really_ want to cause pain— to _delight_ in your victim’s suffering— to _wish_ to see them writhing on the floor and begging for mercy— merely uttering the incantation isn’t _enough_.” 

  
Bellatrix cackled.

_  
Fuck— what am I supposed to do now!?_

  
“There’s a reason why the victim’s driven to insanity— why their mind shatters beyond repair. A perfectly-executed _Cruciatus_ is nothing but _maddening_. The pain is impossibly intense and all-consuming. Your body twists and writhes, bending in unnatural directions over and over again as millions of white-hot knives pierce your skin, setting both muscles and bones ablaze—”

  
Desperate and clueless, Hermione pulled her into a hug. “Bella, please… you’re scaring me. This isn’t you— come back.”

  
“Huh?”

  
After a few seconds, Bellatrix’s body relaxed completely.

  
_I did it! I calmed her down!_   
  


“I’m just like them,” she murmured sadly, not hugging Hermione back. “Something’s wrong inside me— I can feel it. Part of me wants to harm— to make people suffer— to inflict fear in everyone’s hearts— to see their horror-struck faces looking up at me—”

  
“Listen to me,” whispered Hermione, rocking her gently. “You’re nothing like them, Bella. You said it yourself before; _we’re better than them. They tortured people into insanity, we found a cure for it._ D’you think they would do that? Spend years working on a cure for a supposedly incurable condition?”

  
Hiding her face on the crook of Hermione’s neck, Bellatrix shook her head.

  
“I’ve hurt people before,” she admitted quietly. “I punched Draco Malfoy in the face. It felt good. And— and I used the Oppugno Jinx against Ronald Weasley once. Oftentimes, when we’re angry and desperate, we harm those around us... and that’s alright. Well— I mean— hurting people isn’t okay—”

  
“I get what you mean,” whispered Bellatrix, chuckling weakly against Hermione’s skin.

  
Sighing in relief, Hermione smiled. “I’ve said this before but… we’ve all got both light and dark inside us. What matters is the part we choose to act on. By searching for a cure for the Longbottoms’ insanity... by worrying about these things… you’re actively acting on the light inside you. Does that make any sense?”

  
“I guess...”

  
“You’re not a bad person,” she repeated gently, spotting a tabby cat with eyeglass markings sitting near the armillary sphere. “You’re a very good person… who… bad things have happened to.” With great gentleness, Hermione pulled away and smiled at her. “I felt your emotions when you showed me those memories. You feel _so_ much, Bella. You just need to let those emotions out more frequently because, at the end of the day, bottling things up will get you nowhere. You’ll just feel more and more miserable as time goes by. And no, feeling all sorts of things doesn’t make you weak.”

  
With a quiet huff, Bellatrix rubbed her tear-stained cheeks. “Easier said than done.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, smiling fondly. “Practice makes perfect— just remember you’re not alone, okay? There’ll be people there to catch you if you fall.”   
  


For a fleeting moment, Bellatrix looked like she was about to say something. After a moment of hesitation, she smiled tightly and nodded instead.  
  


“Thank you.”  
  


“Anytime,” said Hermione softly, glancing at the armillary sphere again.  
  


The tabby cat was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you wanna see more of my stuff, you can always follow me on Tumblr (@hurricanemylove) where I post Bellamione shenanigans, headcanons and drabbles on occasion. 
> 
> Take care, everyone!


	24. XXIV: Woven into you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time placer: late March.
> 
> All I have to say about this chapter: _incomprehensible groaning and keysmashing_

“...didn’t know what to do...”  
  


The faint drumming of her fingers echoed throughout the Headmistress’ quiet office. Miraculously enough, all the portraits remained asleep and unaware of her presence there.  
  


All except one.  
  


Bottomless eyes, shrewd as they come, blinked open. Those pronounced features soon turned into a haughty expression, his pallid skin wrinkling a tad.  
  


Having hidden his secondary portrait inside her beaded handbag all those years ago, back when they used 12 Grimmauld Place as a temporary hide-out from Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters; Hermione remembered him vaguely. What is more, the sneering man also appeared in _Hogwarts: A History_ various times; always depicted as an extremely arrogant wizard who loathed his profession wholeheartedly. The predecessor of Armando Dippet and, supposedly, the least popular Headmaster Hogwarts ever had.  
  


Phineas Nigellus Black.   
  


The man fixed his green robes and stayed in complete silence, listening to Hermione talk about his great-great-granddaughter with an unreadable expression.  
  


“...I panicked,” she continued quietly, “and I hugged her. Tried to hold her steady. I didn’t mean to _—_ it’s my fault.”  
  


_I shouldn’t have asked her that— I almost made her snap.  
  
_

“You simply asked her a question, did you not? You couldn’t have predicted that outcome, Hermione,” said Minerva in a stern yet reassuring voice. “I believe you did an admirable job. Calming her down isn’t easy. Truth be told, I’m a bit surprised she listened to you so readily.”  
  


Hermione shrugged.   
  


“Any idea why that might be?”  
  


“I’m afraid not, Headmistress.”  
  


Pinching the bridge of her nose, Minerva sighed and mumbled something not dissimilar to _oblivious Gryffindors and evasive Slytherins_ under her breath.   
  


“What—?”  
  


“You mentioned something about… her memories and emotions back in the Transfiguration Courtyard,” interjected Minerva calmly. “I assume she showed you the Boggart incident?”  
  


“Among other things, yes.”  
  


Minerva nodded slowly, almost wistfully.   
  


“I wasn’t expecting _that_ ,” said Hermione in a small voice. “I was taken aback by many things, honestly. In that memory… Sirius and Bellatrix were hostile toward each other. I knew they weren’t on friendly terms back then— Sirius told me months ago— but I forgot about that.”  
  


“Those days were… far from ideal,” said McGonagall with a nostalgic yet pained smile. “I remember them vividly. Sirius would often complain about Bellatrix’s personality and behaviour in class. Meanwhile, he found himself bonding with Andromeda effortlessly.”  
  


_Yes, that’s exactly what Bella said during her argument with Sirius.  
  
_

Hermione licked her lips and nodded. “There’s another thing that caught my attention. I could hear Bellatrix’s line of thought,” she admitted nervously, looking away from Minerva’s teal eyes. “Highly sarcastic most of the time… but when that Boggart looked at her— when it finally changed shapes and became Cygnus Black— deep down, she freaked out. All of a sudden, her thoughts became nonsensical and fragmented; she couldn’t think clearly. Bellatrix wasn’t _scared._ No, she was _frightened_.”  
  


A sudden, sharp movement at her right caught her eye.  
  


“Only a true Black could possibly leave such an effect on another Black,” spat Phineas Nigellus from his portrait, an arrogant smile on his face. “And for good reason, too! For generations, we members of the Noble House of Black raise our kids with a firm hand, prepare them for glory and success. If my great-great-granddaughter cannot stand a little roughness, she’s nothing but a di—”  
  


Minerva stood up abruptly and glared at him. “This goes beyond a little roughness, Phineas! Nothing about you Blacks and your upbringing methods is as simple as that,” she said in a menacing voice that made Hermione shudder. The McGonagall she knew hardly raised her voice like that. “If you don’t have anything valuable to say, then I’d suggest you return to your slumber. I’m beyond tired of hearing you insult my students all the time, Phineas.”  
  


Failing to come up with a snarky reply, the old Headmaster smirked disdainfully and abandoned his portrait.  
  


Hermione wanted to reach inside her overcoat, thrust her wand forward and scream _‘INCENDIO!’_ at the top of her lungs. To watch his portrait turn into nothing but ashes and dust. Such an underwhelming finale for such a self-absorbed man. However, she pushed that urge away —with a considerable amount of effort— and shook her head.  
  


Taking a very deep breath, Minerva sat down again. Underneath the anger that shimmered within those commanding teal eyes of hers, Hermione could see a hint of melancholy and regret. A hint of understanding and pain.  
  


 _Professor McGonagall’s been through a lot,_ thought Hermione sadly, feeling useless at the moment. _Some of her students turned evil or made all the wrong choices… many were ruthlessly tortured… and others were killed for the sake of a delusional dream.  
  
_

“Many people treated the Slytherins, especially the pure-blood ones with Death Eater relatives, with unsettling suspicion after the Battle of Hogwarts. Even though some fought alongside us and brought reinforcements. It hasn’t been easy for them,” continued Minerva quietly, looking out the window. Trying to keep her emotions in check. “Things started improving, thankfully, until they hit rock bottom again. Because of that Boggart incident, everyone seemed to remember Bellatrix’s ancestry and the unspeakable atrocities her family committed throughout both Wizarding Wars.” Minerva adjusted her glasses and exhaled wearily. “Some defended her… but many others believed she was… unstable… because of that. They still do, unfortunately.”

  
For a moment, Hermione’s eyes widened comically.

  
“You cannot be serious,” she whispered, absolutely flabbergasted. Anger bubbled inside her chest, ferocious and indomitable. “What does _her family_ have to do with anything? Alright— maybe they have a genetic predisposition for— no, doesn’t matter! Bellatrix’s her own person; she’s trying to fix her parents’ wrongdoings and be better than them! You heard that, didn’t you? And— and— _unstable!_ Just because someone’s got a problem—”

  
Minerva leaned forward and grabbed her hand gently. “Many people don’t see beyond the _Black_ name, Hermione. Their reputation is tainted beyond repair; that’s what mostly everyone sees,” she said in a quiet voice. “However, _some_ people see the goodness in her and that’s what truly matters.”

  
Hermione’s roaring anger dissipated a tad, turned into bitter resignation instead. _Yes,_ she’d heard something like that in Bellatrix’s memories.

**_  
“Not everyone thinks you’re crazy, y’know?” said Copperfield, nodding. “Sure; the younger students are very easily influenced, but many muggle-borns and half-bloods know better. Hell, even some of your pure-blood fellows get it! My point is; there are people who’re vouching for you, Bells.”_ **

  
And _yes_ , she also remembered what happened next.

  
The few students present —some Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs she didn’t know— were regarding Bellatrix with unsettling suspicion and underlying fear.

 _  
I acted_ **_exactly_ ** _like that when I first met her… I’m no better than them..._

  
Gods, the mere thought made her sick to her stomach.

  
“People like you,” continued Minerva, patting her hand reassuringly. “When she told you about those… feelings she harbours from time to time… you reassured her without a second thought. Told her she’s not a bad person because you see the goodness in her,” she said with a barely-there smile and a knowing glint in her eye. “That’s probably why she’s so receptive around you, don’t you think?”

  
Hermione smiled weakly. “Maybe— I wouldn’t be so sure.” After a minute of silence, she cleared her throat and glanced up. “Professor, what did you mean by _‘nothing about you Blacks and your upbringing methods is as simple as that’_?”

  
Minerva leaned against her backrest, sighing. “As you already know, I taught Sirius and Regulus Black during their student years. The older brother was sorted into Gryffindor whereas the younger one became a Slytherin, like the rest of their family. Those two were undeniably brilliant,” she whispered with a nostalgic smile. “And undeniably broken. Sirius— his parents didn’t approve of his friends and newfound beliefs— they hurt him many, many times. He, too, knew what a perfectly-executed _Cruciatus_ could do from a very young age. When he ran away— started living with the Potters— Regulus changed for the worse. The headstrong Slytherin boy I knew became withdrawn and stoic. He suddenly was obsessed with success, desperate to prove his worth to the world. We weren’t close… so I didn’t reach out to him— I _thought_ of doing it, but I never did… and I regret that even now.”

  
“I’m really sorry to hear that,” said Hermione quietly, unsure of what to do. She’d never seen Professor McGonagall, the prime example of sternness and self-control, this guilt ridden and emotional. “It must be pretty awful.”

  
“Dwelling in the past will change nothing,” murmured Minerva, looking outside the window again. “But I often find myself wondering if anything would’ve changed had we reached out to those troubled students…”

  
Yes, her thoughts exactly.

  
“Who knows?”

  
Taking a deep breath, Minerva smiled at her with that cryptic omniscience all headmasters and headmistresses of Hogwarts seemed to share. “Ah, but I think you do know the answer. You are, after all, doing exactly that at the current moment.”

  
Hermione frowned. “I— sorry?”

  
“You’ll realise soon enough, Ms. Granger,” said Dumbledore from behind Minerva’s chair, shocking the living daylights out of Hermione. “As for now, you should return to your quarters. It’s gotten quite late.”

  
Knowing better than to argue with Albus Dumbledore’s portrait, Hermione nodded and stood up. “Of course, sir.” Bowing a little, she smiled at Minerva. “Have a nice night, professor.”

  
Right before she exited the Headmistress’ office, Hermione heard Dumbledore’s voice calling after her.   
  


“Remember to follow your heart, Ms. Granger.”

  
  


* * *

  
  


“Easter’s started,” said Sirius the next morning, stating the obvious. “Any plans for the holidays?”

  
Hermione swallowed a piece of toast and smiled. “I’m going back home after breakfast. I haven’t seen my parents since last summer. What about you?”

  
“I was planning on celebrating Easter Sunday with Harry, Ginny and Moony,” answered Sirius, raising his calyx to his lips. “They’re all going to stay at Grimmauld Place for the occasion. After that, I’ll return to Hogwarts and make sure everything’s in order.”

  
Nodding subtly at his cousins, Sirius winked.

 _  
I’ve never seen them in muggle clothes,_ thought Hermione distractedly, fighting an amused smile. They looked so… different and much less imposing, all things considered. More vulnerable, even.

  
Narcissa wore a blue shirtdress and a white cardigan, her blonde hair gathered up into an elegant yet casual bun. In front of her sat Andromeda, who wore cuffed jeans and a purple t-shirt, her curls tied into a low ponytail. Beside them, sitting cross-legged on the Slytherin table without a single care in the world, sat Bellatrix. The girl wore jeans and a green button-down shirt, her wild ringlets tossed to the side.   
  


_Yes, definitely going to be the end of me.  
  
_

The younger sisters were completely engrossed in their game of Wizard’s Chess, glaring daggers at each other from time to time. Meanwhile, the eldest Black watched the game unfold with an amused smirk.  
  


After much deliberation, Narcissa finally made her move. “Queen to D7,” she ordered, triumph dripping from her voice. “Checkmate.”  
  


As the black king shattered into little pieces, Andromeda smacked the table. “Rematch!” 

  
“They’re staying here?” 

  
Sirius hummed affirmatively, watching the Black sisters play another round of Wizard’s Chess with a little smile. The moment Narcissa took one of Andromeda’s rooks out with a knight, he barked a loud laugh.

  
“Drommie really sucks at this game,” he said, smirking. “Getting beaten so blatantly by her little sister… shame on her.” After taking another sip of his coffee, he looked at Hermione again. “You could always celebrate Easter Sunday with us, ‘Mione. The more the merrier.”

  
Hermione smiled. “Oh— sure!”

  
  


* * *

  
  


“—a student vanished his eyebrows somehow and—”

  
“—her chalice grew legs and started running all around the classroom!”

  
“—noticed just how small the first-years really are. Was I like that when I was their age?”  
  


“—Harry’s godfather invited me over for Easter Sunday; do you mind if I go?”

  
Catching up with her parents was anything but tasking or boring. Hermione had anecdotes for days, perhaps even _weeks_ ; some ridiculous and others downright hilarious. Upon telling them about Crookshanks Jr., her mouth curved into the biggest and brightest of smiles. As days went by, she informed them of mostly everything —she outright refused to tell them about those certain… _revelations_ she’d had along the way— that’d happened during her absence.

  
Pleased to see their daughter brimming with life and happiness again, Noah and Jean Granger soaked everything their daughter said. Having seen her in pain for months, they really cherished her smiles and heartfelt laughter.

  
Easter Sunday arrived much sooner than expected.

  
After having a little feast with her parents, Hermione travelled to King’s Cross and headed toward 12 Grimmauld Place, a twenty-minute walk from the station. When she arrived at the street, the house suddenly revealed itself before Hermione’s eyes and granted her access.

  
Once inside, she cleared her throat. “Hello? Is anybody here?” 

  
“Master’s running some errands with his guests,” said a familiar voice. “Master will return soon.”

  
“Thank you, Kreacher.”  
  


The old house-elf nodded, his huge ears wobbling almost comically, and disappeared from sight. After a few seconds, Hermione heard the familiar _‘crack!’_ of Apparation coming from the second floor.

  
Hermione smiled.

  
According to Sirius, he started treating Kreacher more respectfully upon learning about Regulus’ sacrifice. In return, Kreacher became more friendly and receptive around him.

**_  
“It wasn’t easy,” said Sirius, looking ashamed. “Treating him nicely after loathing him for decades… but I tried. My bro— Regulus loved him and, in a way, Kreacher is his legacy. The only thing he left behind before passing away.”_ **

  
With a happy sigh, she ventured further inside the house. 

  
For whatever reason, her feet stopped in front of the drawing-room. The one with that ornate tapestry. Feeling an inexplicable pull toward the mural, she crossed her arms and entered the room.

“ _En stirps nobilis et gens antiquissima Black,_ ” read Hermione. “The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.” Her lips curled into a disgusted grimace upon spotting the family logo and horrid motto, _‘Toujours Pur’_.  
  


As always, the tapestry looked immensely old; it was faded and looked as though Doxys or rodents had gnawed it in places. Nevertheless, the golden thread with which it was embroidered still glinted brightly enough to show her a sprawling tree dating back to the Middle Ages. True to her memories, various faces were nothing but a burnt spot on the tapestry; blood-traitors and Squibs, most likely. 

  
  


Smiling at the abnormal and nigh-on ridiculous amount of people named after stars or constellations, Hermione studied the tapestry in silence.

_  
Alphard… Orion… Pollux… Sirius I, II and III… Regulus I and II… Phoebe..._

  
Linked to _‘Cygnus Black III’_ and _‘Druella_ _Black’_ — _née Rosier,_ a small voice immediately at the back of her head added— lay a pleasantly familiar name; _‘Bellatrix Black’_. Together with her little sisters’, of course, but Hermione couldn’t focus on anything but Bellatrix’s name and portrait.

  
“Having fun?”

  
Hermione twirled around, shocked.

  
“Gin!” she said, smiling. “I didn’t— when did you get here?”

  
The redhead smirked and entered the parlour. “Ten minutes ago, maybe. It’s been a hot minute since I last saw you so engrossed in something. Everything alright?”

  
“Just thinking, don’t worry.”

  
“Mhmm...”

  
Her traitorous mouth, as unreliable and wicked as ever, started working on its own accord _again_ and saying the things she wished to confide in somebody.

  
“D’you remember what I told you in Diagon Alley?” she whispered, looking at the tapestry once more. Glancing at Bellatrix’s little portrait, which depicted her with an unamused expression. 

  
“About—?” 

  
Hermione nodded.

  
“I do.” 

  
And maybe, just maybe, this was a grave mistake. For the briefest of moments, Hermione thought about stirring the conversation elsewhere. Running away from the parlour and keeping her feelings for her _student_ buried deep, deep within her thundering heart. 

  
But she didn’t. 

  
Her pulse skyrocketed and her hands grew clammy. 

_  
Out with it, Granger!_

  
“Would you think any less of me if I told you that I like Bellatrix?”

  
There, she’d said it.

  
One second.

  
Two seconds.

 _  
I’ve ruined it— joking about this is one thing, but having actual feelings for a student? Gods, I’ve probably ruined our friend_ —

  
“Why would I?” asked Ginny quietly.

  
In the blink of an eye, all her doubts and insecurities started seeping through the gaps of her fingers like running water.

  
“Because she’s a teenager— she’s going through a lot— she’s my student!” she exclaimed, feeling her self-control fade away. “Because I’m older than her— five years— and it isn’t morally correct! Because I’m falling for a witch who hasn’t even taken her N.E.W.T.s yet. Because I have a position of power over her— and I don’t want to make things awkward between us— or make her feel pressured. Because— because—”

  
“You’re worried about her wellbeing and feelings.” For a moment, Hermione’s heart nearly stopped thrumming. “Stop beating yourself up, ‘Mione, you haven’t done anything wrong.”

  
Frozen in place, Hermione swallowed hard.

  
“I— Sirius— listen—”

  
“D’you really think I didn’t know?” asked Sirius whilst striding into the parlour, sounding amused. “You wound me.”

  
Hermione looked at him. “I— how?”

  
Scratching his beard, he shrugged. “Crookshanks Jr., of course.” He chewed on his bottom lip, as though pondering over something, and said, “Minnie also knows.”

  
Her soul abandoned her body.

  
Ginny rushed forward and held her in place.

  
“I— you— she— he— what?”

  
“Congrats, Sirius, you’ve broken her.”

  
Looking apologetic, Sirius grimaced. 

  
And suddenly, all of Minerva’s and Dumbledore’s omniscient comments made sense.   
  


“Is that why McGonagall called me to her office before Easter break began?”

  
Sirius raised an eyebrow. “Did she really?”

  
“I— she said it was because she’d heard me ask Bellatrix how to perform a _Cruciatus_ properly.”

  
“You’re probably reading too much into it,” said Sirius. “Why’d you ask her that? Actually— nevermind— knowing my cousin, I can perfectly imagine how that went down.”

  
“Am I going to lose my job?”  
  


With a deep sigh, Sirius grabbed her shoulders gently. “Hermione, we’ve known for months. Crookshanks Jr. accidentally spoke about your feelings back in January, shortly after winter break ended. We’ve known for _months_ ,” he said slowly, making emphasising the last word. “Minnie hasn’t fired you, has she?”

  
Hermione shook her head.

  
“Exactly,” he whispered. “I’ll be honest with you; Minnie and I were worried at first— but, after observing you two a bit, we realised there’s nothing to worry about. You’re a responsible person and it’s obvious that you really care about her. C’mon now… I need you to do something for me.”

  
Looking into his grey eyes, she nodded dumbly.

  
“Tell me why you like her.”

  
Now _that_ she could do.  
  


“Bellatrix’s a brilliant witch,” she said in a small voice, leaning into Ginny’s embrace for support. Both physical and emotional. “She challenges me in class a lot. I really like debating things with her, she offers me a different yet intriguing perspective most of the time. Beneath that smug attitude of hers, she’s a nice person. I— she makes me feel valid. And laugh—”  
  
  
“Only _you_ would find my cousin’s antics funny.”  
  
  
Hermione chuckled weakly. “They are funny— she can be very funny on occasion. And— I feel like we’re connected somehow— like we’re intertwined, if that makes any sense.” She smiled at him, feeling her cheeks grow warmer and warmer. “When she duelled against you— when first I saw her technique and self-assurance— I was mesmerised. And… her laugh… her smile… her voice...”

  
“See?” chuckled Sirius, patting her shoulders. “No need to worry about a thing— you’re royally screwed.”  
  


“I guess you’re right…” she whispered, looking between Ginny and Sirius. “For God’s sake… you two teased me about this during the Yule Ball!”

  
Ginny snorted. “Oh, you’re right! Damn, you’ve really been crushing on her for a long time, huh?”

  
“What’s with the long face?” said Sirius, noticing her dejected expression. 

  
Hermione inhaled sharply. “I’ve got all these feelings… and I don’t know— I won’t be able to hide them for long. To pretend I don’t like her… and I’m worried because— I’m her teacher and it’s not morally correct— for all I know, she doesn’t like me back. She said it herself; she respects me. That’s it… respect... that’s all there is...”

  
“Well… I owe Minnie five galleons,” grumbled Sirius through gritted teeth. “I— Hermione— y’know what? You’re a really clever witch, you’re the _Brightest Witch of Her Age_ for a reason; you’ll figure things out yourself eventually, I’m sure.”  
  


Ginny pursed her lips, stifling a laugh. “You should tell Harry about this, by the way. I’m sure he’ll support you— dunno about Remus.”

  
“I’ll keep him distracted while you talk with Harry, don’t worry,” said Sirius, winking.

  
“Ew, enough. I don’t need any weird mental images of— bloody hell!”

  
And as Sirius chuckled, a familiar voice echoed throughout the main corridor.

  
“Sirius, we’re back!” said Harry happily. “They didn’t have those fancy steaks you wanted, we’re sorry!”

  
Remus’ voice followed next. “I bought some Blishen’s Firewhiskey and Elven Wine to make up for that, though. Hope that’s alright with you.”

  
“Well— I cannot say no to Elven Wine and you know that damn well, Moony!” called Sirius back, walking toward the door. “Kreacher! Will you prepare dinner for us, please?”

  
And despite the sheer panic bubbling inside her chest, Hermione found herself thinking about one single thing.   
  


_I’ve fallen for her— and I’m royally screwed._


End file.
